iDYLS-OF-eLDORADO- 
(y-CHARL€S-K€CL€R 


157 


LIBRARY 

OF    THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Class 


#<$  5" 


DYLSOF-€LDORADO 
E/-CHARL€S-K€€LCR 


DYLS-OF-CL  DORADO 
By-CHARL€S-KCCL€R 


A/l  ROBERTSON 


rji 


pyrig 
By  CHARLES  KEELER 


Decorated  with  designs 

from  the  California  Wild  Flowers 

By  LOUISE  KEELER 


PRINTED  AT  THE  SHOP    OF   THE  STANLEY-TAYLOR 
COMPANY,    SAN    FRANCISCO,    IN    THE   YEAR    MCM. 


TO    LOUISE 

There  is  a  land  of  golden  dreams  afar, 
An  El  Dorado  in  the  realms  of  song, 

And  thou,  my  love,  the  portal  canst  unbar 
That  blinds  my  vision  of  its  radiant  throng. 


118745 


LIST    OF    TITLES 

Page 

The  Dreamer  and  the  Doer         .         .         .         .  i 

Ode  to  the  Pacific 3 

To  a  Redwood  Tree 5 

Along  Shore            ......  7 

A  Dream  of  El  Dorado      .....  9 

Invocation  to  California            ....  " 

To  an  Alaskan  Glacier        .          .          .         .          .12 

New  Year's  Eve,  1900              ....  H 

The  Way  of  the  World 17 

On  Alaskan  Waters 1 8 

To  a  Mourning  Dove          .          .          .          .          .  *9 

In  the  Canon           ......  20 

From  the  Hills  Beyond  the  Bay           .          .          .  *i 

On  Hearing  Music  in  the  Woods    ...  « 

Maiden  Golden  Hair            .....  24 

Alone  at  Monterey          .          .          .          .          .  *5 

A  Song 26 

At  Kadiak,  Alaska *7 

A  Summer  Day           ......  29 

San  Francisco  from  Afar          ....  30 

June  in  the  Woodland         .          .          .          .  31 

A  Song  of  the  Hills 32 

To  the  University  of  California    .          .          .          -33 

Joy  of  the  Passing  Day            .          .          .          .  34 
Autumn  in  the  Sierras         .          .          .          .          .35 

The  Night  Fog 36 

The  North  Wind 38 

The  Drouth 39 

The  Coming  of  the  Rain     .....  40 


VI 


List   of  Titles 


A  Vision  of  the  West 
A  Voice  on  the  Wind 
An  Idyl  of  the  Pines 


Page 

41 

48 

49 


WOODLAND    TALES    HESPERIAN 


Induction 

How  Shasta  Won  the  Fire 

Colias  and  Godetia 

The  Descent  of  Boreas 

Avila  and  Sturnellus 

The  War  of  the  Titans 

The  Mist  Maidens 

Address  to  the  God  of  Light 


59 
61 

67 

73 
80 

83 
89 

95 


IDYLS    OF    EL    DORADO 


THE  DREAMER  AND  THE  DOER 


In    the   beginning   was  the    Word,  and  the    Word  was   with   God, 
and  the  Word  was  God. — St.  John. 

Back  of  every  mighty  action   stands  the   planner  with 

his  plan, — 
First  the  dreamer,   then  the  doer ;  first  the  Maker,  then 

the  man. 
Shall  we  lower  rate  achievements  of  the  brain  than  of 

the  hand? 
All  we  do  is  of  the  spirit  if  we  rightly  understand. 

When  the  voice  of  Science  tells  us  how  through  ages 

man  has  grown, 
How  the  earth  is  still  in   making,  how  the  past  is  all 

our  own, 
Shall  we  therefore  count  it  lightly  that  the  world  was 

first  a  word, 
Spoken  in  a  void  of    silence,    by   the  startled    atoms 

heard  ? 


2  The  Dreamer   and  the  Doer 

For  the  world  is  still  unfolding  what  the  primal  Master 

planned, 
Through    eternity    completing    one    sublimely    thought 

command. 
And   the   dreamer   is  the   doer  if  he    dreameth  aught 

aright, 
For   his    thought   shall   grow   to  action   and   his  word 

shall  be  the  light. 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


ODE    TO    THE    PACIFIC 

Ocean  of  oceans,  mother  of  all  seas, 
Blue  wilderness  of  passion  and  of  peace, 
Hoarse  nursling  of  rude  storms  —  thy  wild  increase  — 

O'er  far  leagues  shelterless,  o'er  placid  leas 
Augustly  swaying  with  majestic  grace 
All  lesser  monarchs  of  the  watery  race. 

In  thy  vast  breast  are  pent  all  nations'  destinies  ! 

Here  shall  the  drama  of  the  world  to  be 

Find  theater  to  fit  its  mighty  play; 

The  leaguered  hosts  are  storming  round  Cathay — 
Saxon  and  Cossac  strive  for  empery, 

But  still  in  foam  thy  heedless  tide  is  tossed, 

For  though  all  nations  be  with  ruin  crossed 
Still  shall  thy  royal  trumpets  echo  full  and  free. 

From  cape  of  storms  beneath  the  cross  of  night 

To  that  north  sea  where  rove  the  Arctic  floes, 

Thy  wind  in  unimpeded  passion  blows, 
Thy  waves  unbridled  onward  urge  their  flight ; 

But  'neath  the  turmoil  all  is  calm  and  still ; 

Thy  mystic  depths  of  silence  scarcely  thrill 
Though  nations  battle  on  thy  tide  for  wrong   or  right. 

Thy  realm  is  highway  to  the  East  and  West, 
And  here  the  fleets  of  Christendom  shall  ride, 
Bearing  their  burdens  o'er  thy  bounding  tide, 


4  Ode   to   the  Pacific 

By  storms  high  tossed,  by  lulling  waves  caressed ; 
But  thou  shalt  claim  fond  fealty  of  all 
And  rouse  the  nations  with  thy  stirring  call, 

O  mighty  ocean,  with  thy  proudly  heaving  breast ! 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


TO    A    REDWOOD    TREE 

Praise  be  to  thee, 

O  time-wrought  monument ! 

Praise  be  to  thee, 

O  sky-supporting  pillar! 

The  stars  that  shine  above  thee, 

The  earth  that  dreams  below  thee, 

The  mountains  that  have  borne  thee, — 

All  loud  proclaim  thy  glory, 

All  chant  to  thee  their  choral. 

Thy  shaft  is  as  a  column 
Of  heav'n's  wide  arch  of  azure, 
Thy  boughs  are  spread  about  thee 
In  stately  sweeps  of  verdure  ; 
Thy  form  is  robed  in  splendor, 
With  majesty  invested  — 
O  praise  be  unto  thee, 
Fair  monument  of  time ! 

The  winds  are  thy  companions, 
The  skies  bend  round  thy  branches, 
The  earth  supports  thy  vastness, — 
And  all  day  long  the  soft  winds  sigh 
Their  song  of  praise  to  thee, 
And  all  the  night  the  wild  winds  weep 
Amid  thy  shelf  ring  arms. 

O  tree  of   trees, 

O  monarch  of  the  grove, 

The  mountains  sound  thy  praises, 


To   a   Redwood    Tree 

The  birds  declare  thy  glory, 

The  brooks  proclaim  thy  wonder, — 

And  all  day  long  the  sweet  springs  sing 

To  thee  their  liquid  lays, 

And  all  the  night  they  sob  beneath 

Thy  broad,  protecting  arms. 

Thou  watcher  over  birds, 

Thou  guardian  of  flowers, 

Praise  be  to  thee 

For  all  thy  tender  care ! 

The  white  fog  steals  amid  thy  shade, 

The  sun  streams  dimly  through, 

The  darkness  falls  about  thy  boughs ; 

The  solemn  night  is  near, 

But  through  its  slumbering  calm  is  heard 

Thy  hymning  strains  on  high! 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


ALONG   SHORE 

The  salt  tide  glances  as  sunbeams  break  on  its  wind- 
stirred  breast, 

And  a  sail-furled  fleet  from  the  strife  of  the  deep  set 
free  lies  at  rest; 

In  the  wavering  smoke  stand  the  towers  and  spires  of 
the  city  of  hills, 

And  an  impulse  of  life  on  the  long  shore  line  through 
the  sea-mist  thrills. 

A  steamer  is  pointing  its  high,  sharp  prow  to  the  open  sea, 

A  tug  pants  by  with  deep-voiced  cry  blown  far  and 
free; 

At  the  docks  is  a  forest  of  masts  with  a  maze  of  cord 
age  and  spars, 

And  the  flags  of  the  nations  are  fluttering  there  'mid 
the  stripes  and  the  stars. 

The  sun   rolls  off    in  the    mist  o'er  the  black-scarred 

brow  of  the  town, 
And  the  fog  for  an  instant  is  burnished   with  gold  like 

a  vanishing  crown; 
Then  one  by  one  along  shore   shine   the  lights  where 

the  ebb-tide  laves, 
Red  and  green  'mid  the  gold  constellations  that  ripple 

their  glow  on  the  waves. 

But  the  waves  moan    faintly  of    battles   that  busy  the 

world  afar, 
And  the  echoes  of  strife  impending  the  peace  of  the 

evening  mar. 


8 


Along  Shore 


I  know  not  what  burden  of  commerce  the  great  sea 

bears  on  its  tide, 
But  O  for  the  burden  of  sorrow  that  follows  the  spirit 

of  pride ! 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


A   DREAM   OF   EL   DORADO 

In  a  dream  world  I  am  drifting 

Down  the  misty  plains  of  time, 
And  I  see  a  pageant  shifting 

'Mid  the  measures  of  my  rhyme,— 
Caballeros  proudly  riding, 
Out  of  mystic  canons  gliding; 
On  their  Arab  chargers  prancing 
With  their  spears  and  sabers  glancing 
Gaily  as  in  olden  time. 

There  are  padres  solemn  chanting 

Vespers  in  the  evening  light, 
As  the  sun's  last  rays  are  slanting 

On  their  crucifixes  bright, 
While  the  mission  bells  are  ringing 
And  the  neophytes  are  singing, 
As  the  golden  mist  comes  sweeping 
From  the  solemn  sea,  low  weeping 
In  the  early  hush  of  night. 

On  the  harbor's  heaving  water 
Rides  a  gallant  Spanish  ship, 
And  the  commandante's  daughter 
Lingers  there  with  trembling  lip, 
For  her  cavalier  is  calling 
And  the  night  about  is  falling, 
While  the  purple  sails  are  filling 
And  her  heart  with  grief  is  thrilling 
With  the  vessel's  rise  and  dip. 


io  A  Dream  of  El  Dorado 

Adios,  O  love-lorn  maiden, 

Sail  adown  the  leaden  tide! 
Precious  is  thy  vessel,  laden 

With  a  prince's  peerless  bride. 
Leave  the  golden  shore  behind  thee, 
May  no  bitter  thought  remind  thee 
Of  the  rapture  that  has  vanished, 
From  thy  El  Dorado  banished 
By  thy  father's  haughty  pride. 

El  Dorado  with  its  golden 

Sands  beside  the  shining  sea, 
With  its  splendor  in  the  olden 

Days  of  caballeros  free, — 
With  its  wealth  of  hidden  treasure, 
With  its  passion  and  its  pleasure, — 
How  its  spell  about  us  dallies, 
Haunting  coast  and  peaks  and  valleys 
With  its  mystic  chivalry! 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  1 1 


INVOCATION   TO    CALIFORNIA 

Guerdon  of  gold  of  the  sun  is  thy  treasure 
From  glist'ning  Sierra  to  foam  of  the  ocean, 

With  fair  flower-children  in  hosts  beyond  measure 
To  yield  thee  their  beauty  with   boundless  devotion  ! 

Royal  the  reaches  of  wheat  in  the  valley ! 

Abundance  has  blessed  the  wide  wastes  of  the  plain, 
And  hosts  of  the  strong-handed  harvesters  rally 

At  dawn-flush  to  garner  the  glittering  grain. 

Full  hang  thy  orchards  with  fruitage  of  summer, 
Thy  citrons  'mid  blossoms  bless  winter  and  spring, 

But  autumn,  the  radiant  year-cycle's  last  comer, 
Bears,  clustered  in  purple,  the  grape  which  is  king. 

Gold,  in  thy  rock-girded  fastnesses  hidden, 
The  magic  of  science  shall  wrest  from  its  store ; 

Insatiate  progress,  advancing,  has  bidden 
That  bounty  of  earth  be  for  man  evermore: 

For  man  as  a  trust  and  a  torch,  not  to  squander 
In  riotous  revel  through  profitless  years, 

But  a  power  that  bids  him  to  pause  and  to  ponder 
On  being  and  beauty,  on  triumph  and  tears  ! 

Here,  here  where  the  breezes  of  freedom  are  blowing, 
Shall  beauty  burst  full  into  flow' rage  to-day, 

And   the   will  to    do    right  shall,  in    proud    hearts,   be 

growing, 
With  might  to  command  and  with  strength  to  obey. 


'2  Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


TO    AN   ALASKAN   GLACIER 

Out  of  the  cloud-world  sweeps  thy  awful  form 
Vast  frozen  river,  fostered  by  the  storm 
Upon  the  drear  peak's  snow-encumbered  crest 
Thy  sides  deep  grinding  in  the  mountain's  breast 
As  down  its  slopes  thou  plowest  to  the  sea 
To  leap  into  thy  mother's  arms,  and  be 
There  cradled  into  nothingness.     How  slow, 
How  imperceptible,  thy  ceaseless  flow, 
As  one  with  an  eternity  unspent 
Wherein  to  round  thy  task  of  wonderment ! 
Thy  strength  resistless  is  as  will  of  fate  ; 
The  granite  ground  to  sand  beneath  thy'  weight, 
The  mountains  hollowed  out  with  furrows  deep! 
The  sculptured  peaks  that  totter  from  their  steep, 
All  bear  the  matchless  impress  of  thy  skill, 
Grim  mountain  hewer!    With  a  sudden  thrill 
Great  bergs  crash  thunderously  beneath  the  tide, 
And,  slow  emerging,  o'er  the  waters  ride 
Like  boats  of  pearl  slow  floating  to  their  doom, 
Which,  fondly,  the  soft  lapping  waves  consume. 

I  walked  erstwhile  upon  thy  frozen  waves, 
And  heard  the  streams  amid  thy  ice-locked  caves  ; 
I  peered  down  thy  crevasses  blue  and  dim, 
Standing  in  awe  upon  the  dizzy  rim. 
Beyond  me  lay  the  inlet  still  and  blue, 
Behind,  the  mountains  loomed  upon  the  view 
Like  storm-wraiths  gathered  from  the  low-hung  sky. 
A  gust  of  wind  swept  past  with  heavy  sigh, 


To   an   Alaskan    Glacier  13 

And  lo  !    I  listened  to  the  ice-stream's  song 

Of  winter,  when  the  nights  grow  dark  and  long, 

And  bright  stars  flash  above  thy  fields  of  snow, 

The  cold  waste  sparkling  in  the  pallid  glow, 

Or,  when  the  storms  wail  round  thy  peaks  and  spires, 

Playing  weird  notes  upon  thy  ice-wrought  lyres 

Until  the  shuddering  pinnacles,  astrain, 

Tumble  and  crash  amidst  the  seething  main. 

Years,  centuries  and  eons  thou  hast  known, 

Waxing  and  waning  in  the  wilds  alone, 

Hoar  mountain  sculptor,  shaper  of  the  earth  ! 

The  crystals  of  the  snow  which  gave  thee  birth, 

Renewing  still  thy  life,  are  o'er  thee  spread, 

And,  as  they  fall,  thou  quiverest  in  thy  bed, 

Stretching  thy  vastness  down  its  narrow  way 

And  roaring  like  a  god  in  fierce  dismay  ; 

Thus  prisoned,  eager  in  one  mighty  throe 

To  leap  into  the  sea  and  end  thy  woe ! 


1 4  Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


NEW    YEAR'S    EVE,    1900 

Round  swings  the  world  until  the  curtained  sun 
In  leaden  mist  is  lost  beneath  the  sea; 

Upon  this  Western  shore  the  day  is  done, 
And  with  the  day  a  year  has  ceased  to  be. 

Time  looks  not  backward  in  its  flight  sublime, 
But,  as  the  earth  spins  on  from  hour  to  hour, 

Sweeps  forward  grandly  toward  its  golden  prime 
And  out  of  chaos  shapes  a  world  of  power. 

O,  night  that  marks  time's  madly  speeding  course, 
Within  the  shadow  of  thy  vasty  deep 

Are  pent  new  centuries  of  endless  force 
That  wait  in  sequence  o'er  the  world  to  sweep. 

What  triumphs  shall  they  bring  and  what  defeat 
In  these  wide  spirit-halls  of  mighty  earth? 

This  year  two  peerless  cycles  proudly  meet, 
And  may  the  new  prove  worthy  of  its  birth ! 

Bethink  thee,  brothers,  how  the  ages  run, 
Bethink  thee  how  the  dizzy  cycles  roll, 

As  each  new  year  sweeps  round  the  radiant  sun, 
And  Fate  holds  up  on  high  her  flaming  scroll ! 

Shall  Fate's  stern  finger  point  in  silent  scorn 
When  in  the  scales  the  centuries  are  weighed  ? 

Shall  you  and  I  be  judged  that  awful  morn, 
And  shall  we  hear  our  summons  unafraid  ? 


New    Year's  Eve,    1900  15 

Come,  then,  O  brothers,  ere  the  age  be  spent, 

Let  us  be  up  and  doing  while  we  may, 
To  spread  a  spirit  of  sublime  content, 

To  build  the  promise  of  a  purer  day. 

Of  old  stood  Babylon  beside  the  stream 

And  Athens  reared  her  pillared  temples  fair, 

But  lo  !  they  vanished  like  a  summer  dream  ;  — 
O,  living  age,  forget  not  and  beware! 

Yet  would  I  not  see  men  too  fondly  turn 

In  backward  gaze,  nor  rest  with  what  is  done; 

Still  forward  must  our  eager  longings  yearn, 
Still  greater  victories  must  yet  be  won. 

The  new  year  dawns  with  plenty  and  with  peace 
On  these  blest  shores,  these  teeming  hills  and  plains ; 

The  fertile  fields  are  ripe  for  their  increase 
And  smile  in  welcome  to  abundant  rains. 

But  Saxon  armies  fight  on  distant  strands  :  — 

England,  America,  with  shot  and  shell 
March  in  the  wilderness  of  hostile  lands, 

The  Filipino  and  the  Boer  to  quell. 

O  God,  it  is  a  fearful  die  to  cast 

When  growing  nations  clash  with  rights  of  man  ! 
The  challenge  ' '  Progress  ! ' '  round  the  world  has  passed 

As  ne'er  before  since  time's  swift  course  began. 

The  weak  must  die,  the  low  be  swept  away, 
For  sterner  stock  is  scattered  o'er  the  earth ; 

But  shall  we  in  our  heart  of  hearts  not  say, 

'"Tis  not  for  you  and   me  to  judge  men's  worth?" 


i6 


New    Yearns   Evey    1900 


O  Judge  of  judges,  may  Thy  will  prevail ! 

And  if  the  law  of  progress  be  fulfilled, 
O  never  may  its  march  of  triumph  fail 

To  listen  to  Thy  counsel,  love  enthrilled  ! 

May  Christ  in  countless  men  be  born  this  year 
To  do  their  Father's  bidding  near  and  far ! 

New  cycles  call  us  forward  without  fear 
While  o'er  us  shines  in  heav'n  love's  guiding  star! 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  17 


THE    WAY    OF    THE    WORLD 

The  old  world  goes  its  way,  my  dear, 

The  old  world  goes  its  way, 

Though  hearts  may  break  and  lives  may  fail, 

Though  rosy  cheeks  grow  wan  and  pale, 

We  do  but  as  we  may,  my  dear, 

We  do  but  as  we  may ! 

The  old  world  goes  its  way,  my  dear, 
The  old  world  goes  its  way  ; 
And  some  rejoice  while  others  weep, 
And  some  have  sown  who  may  not  reap ; 
For  time  bears  all  away,  my  dear, 
For  time  bears  all  away ! 

The  old  world  goes  its  way,  my  dear, 
The  old  world  goes  its  way  ; 
But,  spite  of  cares  and  spite  of  tears, 
A  mighty  purpose  thrills  the  years, 
And  who  would  say  it  nay,  my  dear, 
And  who  would  say  it  nay  ? 


1 8  Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


ON    ALASKAN    WATERS 

Fiords  of  the  West's  north  shore,  where  peaks  austere 
Are  cloudward  thrust,  enrobed  in  glist'ning  snow, 
With  ice-streams  hoar  that  slowly  tideward  flow, 

Sculpturing  their  cliffs  and  crags  that  proudly  rear 

Their  pinnacles  amid  the  heights  of  fear,— 
Your  wonders  round  my  wildered  senses  grow 
As  still  they  shift  and  added  splendors  show 

Where  green  hills  past  the  sparkling  sea  appear. 

What  joy  is  this,  to  float  upon  the  tide, 
So  blue,  so  beautiful,  past  shores  that  rise 
Like  portals  to  enchantment's  fair  demesne, 
'Mid  islets  forested  to  gently  glide, 
Where  every  turn  is  rife  with  glad  surprise 
And  fancy  revels  in  the  changing  scene. 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  19 


TO    A    MOURNING    DOVE 

Summer  has  come  with  sun-seared  valleys  wide, 
The  birds  are  all  a-hushed  in  noon-day  heat ; 

The  reapers  linger  by  the  streamlet's  side, 
When  sounds  the  dove's  fond,  liquid  murmur,  sweet. 

Fleet-winged  haunter  of  June's  golden  plain, 
There  is  in  thy  sweet-murmured,  lingering  notes 

Such  dreamy  love,  such  spell  of  brooding  pain 
As  throbs  from  out  no  other  birdling  throats. 

I  love  thy  quivering  cry  on  flashing  wing, 
I  love  the  mournful  rapture  of  thy  call ! 

Though  other  birds  with  strains  elate  may  sing, 
Some  heavy  sorrow  holds  thy  heart  in  thrall. 

Methinks  thou  art  a  high-born  maiden,  spelled 
In  faery  day  for  thy  dear  love's  despite ; 

Thy  heart's  fond  passion  still  lives  on  unquelled, 
Only  thy  maiden  form  has  vanished  quite. 

O  couldst  thou  have  my  lips  thy  grief  to  speak, 
What  passion,  what  wild  plaint  we  then  should  hear! 

Now  tremble  from  thy  tender  little  beak 
No  strains  save  dreamy  notes  of  longing  drear. 


20  Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


IN    THE    CANON 

I  sat  on  the  bole  of  a  laurel  tree, 

The  wren  was  my  only  guest, 
And  the  wind  blew  free  with  the  witchery 

Of  a  spirit  of  sweet  unrest. 

It  ruffled  the  wren's  prim  breast  and  fled, 

It  trembled  the  hazel  spray, 
It  rustled  the  bed  of  sere  leaves,  spread 

O'er  the  path  in  its  winding  way. 

Aloft  in  the  lattice  of  green  and  blue, 

Where  the  sky  and  leaves  enwove, 
The  sun  burst  through,  and  its  radiance  grew 

To  a  golden  lamp  in  the  grove. 

Methought  I  saw  in  the  golden  gleams 

A  flash  as  of  spirit  wings ; 
Lo !  the  whole  grove  teems  with  the  host  of  dreams 

And  the  choir  celestial  sings  ! 

It  sings  to  the  leaves  upreached  in  prayer, 

It  chants  to  the  blithesome  birds ; 
Its  sweet  tones  bear  a  message  rare 

Of  love  too  deep  for  words. 


Idyls  of  El   Dorado  21 

FROM    THE    HILLS    BEYOND   THE    BAY 

A  NOCTURNE 

The  great  world  slumbers,  silent  at  my  feet. 
Hushed  is  the  air;  the  canon's  breezes,  sweet, 
Through  mossed  oaks  breathe  low  their  night  refrain, 
Down  wandering  to  the  dark  of  dreaming  plain. 

High  in  the  domed  serene  the  orb  of  night 
Shines  'tween  the  cloud-host's  wings  of  milky  white ; 
Athwart  the  bay  its  pale  effulgence  gleams, 
Lighting  the  Gate  of  Gold  with  mystic  beams. 

Through  that  gold  gate,  at  sea  behold,  a  star 
Flashes  its  beacon  from  an  islet  far! 
Quivering  like  some  fair  spectre  of  desire  — 
Some  spirit  phantom  robed  in  flashing  fire. 

Ah,  clearly  through  the  Golden  Gate  of  dreams 
A  star  across  the  night  of  slumber  streams  ! 
And  when  I  waken  I  shall  call  it  mine, 
Clasping  it  next  my  heart  in  close  entwine. 

No  beacon  for  a  vessel  drifting  lone, 
By  alien  breezes  o'er  the  ocean  blown, 
Shall  be  my  star,  but  in  the  blue  above 
An  orb  of  light  —  a  world  of  joy  and  love. 


22  Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


ON    HEARING    MUSIC    IN    THE    WOODS 

Lying  'neath  the  greenwood  tree 
What  a  pageant  I  did  see,— 
Sunlight's  play  of  golden  green, 
Purple  shades  that  lurked  between 
Mighty  shafts  with  tops  a-sway, 
While  each  drooping  fringed  spray 
Tossed  before  the  summer  breeze, 
Making  music  sweet  to  please 
Squirrel  lithe  or  sporting  bird : 
Such  a  stir  of  leaves  I  heard, 
Such  a  sweep  seolean ! 
Then  the  swelling  pulse  of  man 
Throbbed  in  rhythmic  melodies 
From  the  magic  of  the  keys. 
Strains  of  great  Beethoven  rang 
While  the  birds  above  me  sang, 
And  my  spirit  caught  his  fire, 
Thrilling  through  the  woodland  choir,— 
Caught  the  sorrow  of  his  strain, 
Caught  the  triumph  over  pain. 
Faster  swept  the  tones  and  faster 
With  the  passion  of  the  master, 
Till  my  quiet  woodland  bower 
Trembled  with  his  awful  power, 
Shook  as  with  the  trump  of  fate 
Blown  by  angels  at  the  gate, 
While  the  wind's  low  sigh  had  grown 
To  a  mighty  spirit  moan, 
To  the  murmur  of  the  dead 


On   Hearing  Music  in   the    Woods        23 

Floating  from  the  blue  o'erhead, 
With  celestial  whisperings. 
There  was  parl  of  cloudy  kings, 
Clash  of  arms  and  warring  cries, 
Strains  of  peace  and  maiden  sighs. 
Then  the  mighty  music  ended 
But  my  spirit  still  contended 
Till  the  busy  stir  of  life 
Drew  my  fancy  from  the  strife, 
Drew  me  to  the  rippling  green 
Round  my  woodland  bow'r  serene. 


24  Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


MAIDEN    GOLDEN    HAIR 

Sweet  maiden  Golden  Hair !  — 

Never  shone  half  so  fair 

Sun  in  the  morning  mist, 

Glowing  'mid  amethyst, 

As  thy  sweet  presence  shines  full  upon  me. 

Songs  of  the  birds  that  pass, 

Reed  pipes  of  ocean  grass, 

Plashing  of  mountain  rill, 

Redwoods  with  joy  athrill,  — 

All  chant  thy  praise  by  the  West's  golden  sea. 

Sweet  maiden  Golden  Hair, 

Since  thy  fond  spirit  rare 

Rose  in  my  firmament, 

Stars  through  the  darkness  sprent 

Waned  in  the  azure  beneath  thy  clear  gaze. 

Shadows  of  clouds  above 

Brighten  through  perfect  love, 

Discords  of  music  blend, 

Echoes  no  more  contend, 

Shaped  by  thy  presence  to  paeans  of  praise. 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  25 


ALONE    AT    MONTEREY 

The  sea  throbs  faintly  at  my  feet, 
Amid  the  rocks  it  swashes  low, 
In  pale  green  sweeps 
And  purple  deeps 
It  undulates  with  tireless  beat, 
It  pulses  in  unending  flow. 

All  green  and  brown  the  seaweed  clings 
To  pallid  rocks,  wave-worn  and  grim ; 
The  mountains  rise 
To  misty  skies, 

The  wind  amid  the  cypress  sings, 
And  sea-birds  wander  dark  and  dim. 

O  might  I  on  their  pinions  span 
The  misty  leagues  'twixt  thee  and  me, 
Above  the  foam 
My  love  I'd  roam ; 
With  tireless  wings  the  air  I'd  fan 
Until  I  rested  safe  with  thee! 


26 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


A    SONG 


O  well-a-day,  well-a-day,  summer  is  merry 
And  my  love  hath  a  mouth  like  a  wild  ripe  berry, 
With  her  sun-burnt  cheeks  and  her  wind-tossed  tresses, 
That  flutter  to  welcome  the  breezes'  caresses. 

0  well-a-day,  well-a-day,  we  went  a-straying 

Where  flowers  were  blooming  and  birdlings  a-playing. 

1  laughed  with  my  love  while  the  birdies  sang  nigh  us 
And  the  sweet-voiced  stream  went  a-pattering  by  us. 

O  well-a-day,  well-a-day,  youth  is  soon  over 
For  time  is  a  thief  and  the  year  is  a  rover ! 
So  fondly  I  kissed  my  love,  laughing  in  glee, 
And  under  the  oak  bough  my  dearie  kissed  me ! 


Idyls   of  El  Dorado  27 

AT    KADIAK,    ALASKA 

Read  on  the  Harriman  Expedition,  July  4,  1899. 

Is  this  the  wilderness  —  these  green -sward  hills, 
These  wastes  of  lupine,  wind-flower  and  of  rose, 

These  slopes  of  heather  by  the  mountain  rills 

O'erhung  by  skies  of  gold  through  day's  slow  close, 
Where  one  long  lotus  dream  obscures  all  human  woes  ? 

Here  sing  the  birds  on  height  and  in  the  glade  ; 
The  warblers  flash  afield  like  waifs  of  gold, 

The  thrushes  chant  their  vespers  in  the  shade, 
The  northern  robin's  pipe  afar  is  rolled, 
While  in  the  Russian   church   the  bells  are  clanged 
and  tolled. 

We  rovers,  tarrying  here  this  festal  day, 
Still  see  the  flag  of  home  wave  proud  on  high, 

Still  find  a  welcome  on  our  seaward  way, 

For  where  the  flag  waves,  home  and  friends  are  nigh  ;  — 
The  eagle  flaps  his  wings  and  makes  exultant  cry. 

His  cry  is  liberty  as  heaven's  high  dome 
He  scales  on  peerless  wing,  and  we  in  kind 

Shout  back  our  answer  as  we  westward  roam, 
Trusting  our  voicing  to  the  heedless  wind 
That  haunts  the  misty  sea,  a  pilgrim  lost  and  blind. 

Call  ye  this  liberty,  where  law's  strong  hand 

In  nerveless  palsy  falters  over  wrong  — 
Sing  ye  of  freedom  in  a  lawless  land  ? 


28  At   Kadiak,  Alaska 

The  very  winds  shall  mock  your  idle  song 
And  in  a  wail  each  syllable  of  pain  prolong. 

We  who  have  failed  to  rule  a  wilderness 
Now  preach  of  liberty  in  tropic  seas  ; 

Forsooth  our  sway  the  Orient  hordes  shall  bless 
While  politicians  trim  to  every  breeze, — 
O  God,  must  our  dear  sons  be  slain,   such  men  to 
please  ? 

O,  teach  us  in  this  wilderness  Thy  ways, 
And  by  the  mountains  let  Thy  law  be  sung ; 

No  work  of  man  endures  which  disobeys 
Thy  bidding ;  every  clod  shall  find  a  tongue, 
And  liberty  by  bells  innumerous  be  rung. 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  29 


A    SUMMER    DAY 

The  rain  is  over 
And  grass  and  clover 

On  rolling  hill 
Are  brown  and  yellow, 
While  fruit  grows  mellow 

For  lip  and  bill. 

The  dust  is  flying ; 
Wild  flowers  are  dying 

Beside  the  way. 
Fledglings  are  winging; 
The  brook's  sweet  singing 

Is  stilled  to-day. 

The  buzzard  is  wheeling 
Where  sea-mist  stealing 

Enfolds  its  wings; 
The  night  is  falling 
While  thrush,  loud  calling, 

His  matin  sings. 


30  Idyls  of  El  Dorado 

SAN    FRANCISCO    FROM    AFAR 

The  jays  laugh  shrill,  the  flicker  calls, 
And  —  hush  !  the  silken  sweeping  breeze 

'Mid  oak  boughs  rustling  swells  and  falls  ; 
Far  spreads  the  plain  'neath  branched  trees. 

The  waning  sun  with  silver  glow 
Is  flashed  upon  the  water  wide, 

And  stately  ships  are  drifting  slow 
Across  the  sparkling  reach  of  tide. 

How  peaceful  seems  the  scene  outspread  — 

But  O  the  city's  line  of  blue, 
What  hopes  and  fears  there  nourished 

Are  panting  'neath  my  placid  view ! 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  31 


JUNE    IN    THE    WOODLAND 

Vireo  on  oak  bough, 

Swallow  on  the  wing, 
Sun  upon  the  glistening  stream, 

Joy  in  everything ! 

Stirrings  in  the  trout  pool, 

Whir  of  wings  above, 
Insects  humming  in  the  trees, 

Distant  coo  of  dove ! 

Blossoms  on  the  buckeye, 

Perfuming  the  breeze, 
Murmurs  of  the  rippling  brook, 

Voices  from  the  trees ! 

Love  amid  the  tree-tops, 

Love  amid  the  vale, 
Bill  to  bill,  as  lip  to  lip, 

Tells  the  tender  tale ! 


32  Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


A    SONG    OF    THE    HILLS 

O,  'twas  over  the  hills  of  gold  and  green 

And  under  the  bright  blue  sky 
We  danced  away 
At  the  break  of  day 
To  sing  where  the  poppies  their  cups  did  lean, 

To  shout  as  a  hawk  swept  proudly  by. 

O,  'twas  hand  in  hand  that  we  danced  along 

To  the  shadowy,  fern-paved  dell, 
Where  the  trilium  swayed 
In  the  cool,  sweet  glade, 
Seeming  to  answer  our  happy  song 

With  its  tender  blessing,  "All's  well,  all's  well!" 

We  loitered  in  passing  beneath  the  trees 
And  joined  in  the  wind's  low  prayer, 

We  whispered  our  love 

While  the  breezes  above 

Murmured  to  me,  "  Louise,  Louise," 
And  methought  'twas  of  all  fair  days  most  fair. 


-SITY 
Idyls  of  El  Dorado  33 


TO    THE    UNIVERSITY    OF   CALIFORNIA 

Here,  where  the  gentle  hand  of  God,  outspread 
In  benediction,  has  bestowed  such  blue 
And  purple  mist  upon  the  bay,  such  view 

Of  ocean  far  through  golden  portals  led, 

Or,  in  the  gloaming,  such  a  royal  red, 
Sweeping  the  tide  and  spreading  high  its  hue 
Like  banners  of  Cathay  flung  wide,  there  grew 

A  consecrated  pile  to  learning  wed. 

O  may  the  stones  here  reared  make  mute  appeal 
With  their  dumb  eloquence  for  beauty's  dower, 

And  may  they  be  the  center,  whence  shall  steal 
A  presence  through  the  land,  a  might,  a  power 

Shaping  the  West  to  ends  more  fair  and  strong, 

Finding  expression  meet  in  toil  and  song. 


34  Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


JOY    OF    THE    PASSING    DAY 

O  for  a  lilt  of  the  lark  on  the  lea 
And  the  oriole's  caroling,  joyous  and  free ! 
Sing  cheerily,  cheerily,  lightsome  and  loud, 
Summer  is  round  us  with  never  a  cloud ! 

O  for  a  song  of  my  love  in  the  home, 
And  the  laughter  of  children  at  play  in  the  gloam ! 
Sweet  sound  my  birdlings,  their  pinions  half  grown, 
But  O  should  I  waken  to  find  they  had  flown  ! 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  35 


AUTUMN    IN    THE    SIERRAS 

The  gentle  summer  zephyrs  yield  their  sway 

To  blustering  blasts  that  down  the  frigid  stream 
Of  high  Sierra  glacier  bear  dismay 

To  tender  foliage  when  autumn's  gleam 
Of  golden  sun  has  lost  its  quick' ning  charm 
And  fails  the  frost  king's  legions  to  disarm, 
As  on  they  bear  their  flags  in  bright  array. 

The  pine  trees  sway  their  tasseled  boughs  aloft 
As  rude  winds  revel  at  their  wanton  will, 

Making  wild  music  'mid  their  tops,  while  oft 
The  lone  woodpecker  calls  in  accents  shrill 

And  asters  tremble  with  foreboding  fear. 

The  streamlet  sobs  while  all  the  leaflets  dear 

Are  fluttering  to  the  earth  with  wailings  soft. 

The  mice  beside  the  runnels  seek  retreat, 

The  prudent  squirrel  finds  his  winter  nest, 
The  swallows  wing  them  south  on  pinions  fleet, 
The  flowers  shrink  upon  their  mother's  breast. 
Now  sobs  the  cold  bleak  rain  on  leafless  trees 
And  on  the  sedgy  pools  of  mountain  leas, 
Proclaiming  weary  autumn's  swift  defeat. 


36  Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


THE    NIGHT   FOG 

Misty  wraiths  of  mindless  ocean, 

Wreathed  spectres  shoreward  stealing, 
Phantoms  in  a  still  commotion 

Aimless  onward  rolling,  reeling, — 
Haunting  seas  with  silent  winging, 

Lingering  o'er  the  land  so  dreary, 
Freight  of  tears  to  flowers  bringing, 

Ever  winding,  dull  and  weary! 

From  the  hills  I  see  thy  masses 

Through  the  Golden  Gate  in-streaming, 
Like  a  shrouded  host  that  passes 

'Mid  the  brain  in  restless  dreaming, 
Cresting  Tamalpais  with  hoary 

Piles  of  fleece  in  splendor  lightened 
When  the  gloaming's  wizard  glory 

All  their  length  with  gold  has  brightened. 

'Mid  the  canons  gliding  stilly, 

Through  the  oaks  and  laurels  slipping 
Till  the  verdure  of  the  hilly 

Slopes  with  cooling  mist  is  dripping  — 
Thus  all  night  the  fog  is  sweeping 

Like  a  caravan  of  sorrow, 
Ghostly  and  in  silence  weeping 

O'er  the  troubles  of  the  morrow. 


The  Night  Fog 

Thus  all  night  its  host  is  winding 

Up  the  hills  and  down  the  canons, 
Till  the  morning  sun  is  finding 

In  the  fields  its  day  companions  — 
Birds  amid  the  yellow  grasses 

Where  the  dewdrops  bright  are  glimming, 
Summer  flow'rs  and  singing  lasses : 

Morning's  cup  with  joy  is  brimming ! 


37 


38  Idyls   of  El  Dorado 


THE    NORTH    WIND 

'Tis  roar  and  shriek  and  whistle  and  moan 
When  the  breath  of  the  North  blows  over  the  land, 

And  the  timbers  creak  and  the  big  boughs  groan 
And  wave  as  if  shaken  by  Titan  hand. 

O'er  the  fields  of  grain  with  its  parching  breath 
It  blows  till  the  green  blades  wither  and  die, 

For  it  blights  the  herbage  with  blast  of  death 
As  its  torrid  frenzy  goes  shrieking  by. 

Forth  from  the  desert  of  burning  sand, 

Envious  of  all  that  is  green  and  fair, 
The  north  wind  leaps  with  his  fierce  command 

To  conquer  the  hosts  of  the  realm  of  air. 

The  wind  king  calls  to  his  chariot  host 
And  the  horses  are  harnessed  and  lashed  along 

South  through  the  valleys  beside  the  Coast 
Sweeping  and  shouting  their  savage  song. 

The  clouds  are  scattered,  the  sky  is  clear, 
And  the  great  stars  sparkle  and  flash  all  night 

As  the  winged  steeds  in  their  mad  career 
Storm  through  the  azure  with  fatal  flight. 

O  wind  king,  why  do  you  ravage  our  fields 
With  three  days'  revel  and  three  nights'  song? 

Because  I  am  fate  and  the  wide  earth  yields 
And  none  may  dispute  me  for  none  are  so  strong. 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  39 


THE    DROUTH 

From  Shasta  south  to  El  Cajon, 
From  Tahoe  to  the  sea-girt  shore, 

No  cloud  in  answer  to  our  moan 
Bears  prophecy  of  rain  once  more. 

The  north  wind  blows  a  bitter  drouth, 
The  west  wind  sweeps  across  the  plain, 

But  O  the  wind  of  east  and  south 
Comes  not  with  cheering  sign  of  rain. 

The  herbage  starts  not  on  the  hills, 
The  cattle  starve  in  pastures  sear, 

The  fruit  trees  wilt  and  babbling  rills 
Lapse  of!  in  sand  and  disappear. 

O  clouds  of  hope,  O  welcome  wind, 
We  pray  thee  kiss  our  fainting  flowers ; 

To  this  fair  fruitful  land  be  kind 
And  bless  us  with  abundant  showers  ! 


40  Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


THE    COMING    OF    THE    RAIN 

A  mist  o'er  the  blue  and  a  south  wind  blowing, 
A  moist  mild  air  and  the  cattle  lowing, 
The  dull  clouds  gathering  darker  and  nearer  — 
The  rain !  ho,  the  rain !  could  blessing  be  dearer  ? 

The  first  drops  fall  upon  heaven-turned  faces; 
The  spots  dint  the  dust  in  the  parched-up  places; 
Then  the  clouds  yield  their  bounty  in  torrents  abounding, 
And  the  strain  of  the  swift-streaming  waters  is  sounding. 

On  the  roof  is  a  patter,  from  eaves  is  a  dripping, 
And   the  flowers   and  the  ferns  the  sweet  nectar  are 

sipping, 

As  the  murmuring  strain  of  the  shower  is  swelling, 
Good  cheer  to  the  sward  in  the  swale  sweetly  telling. 

The  grass  wakens  green  as  if  startled  from  slumber; 
No  more  shall  the  dust-cloud  the  fair  land  encumber; 
And   the  sparrow  sings  loud  from    his    perch    on  the 

brier, 
Sweet-voicing  the  answer  to  each  heart's  desire. 


Idyls  of  El   Dorado  41 


A    VISION    OF    THE    WEST 

Far  land,  the  margent  of  the  mighty  West, 

Famed  El  Dorado,  prophesied  of  yore, 
A  storied  wilderness  of  wild  unrest, 

A  teeming  treasure-house  by  ocean's  shore! 

How  often,  as  a  boy,  I  dreamed  of  thee 
With  all  thy  matchless  wonders,  dim  and  fair, — 

Thy  gate  that  opens  to  the  Orient  sea, 
Thy  gold,  thy  fruits,  thy  flowers,  thy  peerless  air, 

Thy  zoned  snow-peaks  gloriously  piled, 

Thy  yawning  gulf,  Yosemite,  sublime, 
Circled  with  domes  and  crags  of  splendor  wild, 

Thy  coned  Titans  of  unmeasured  time, 

Towering  imperial  past  all  lofty  trees ! 

These  dreams  were  mine,  but  little  did  I  know 
How  soon  in  joy  I'd  greet  such  scenes  as  these, 

Destined  amid  their  wilding  grace  to  grow. 

The  woods  and  waters  had  my  teachers  been, 
Telling  me  tales  of  wonder  and  delight: 

The  birds  that  sported  'mid  leaf-lattice  screen, 
May  flow'rs  that  starred  the  meads  with  colors  bright. 

Oft  had  I  seen  the  sun's  bright  shield  of  gold 
Surge  from  the  lake  that  laves  Wisconsin's  strand, 

Imaged  across  the  water  blue  and  cold, 
Whereat  joy  trembled  o'er  th'  awakening  land. 


42  A    Vision   of  the    West 

When  winter's  cutting  gales  swept  fierce  and  free 
Down  th'  wide  upland  plains  of  piled  snow, 

I  loved  to  wade  across  the  windy  lea 
To  see  the  lake  far-paved  with  icen  floe, 

Or  edge  along  the  frozen  river's  rim, 

The  keen  wind  whistling  thro'  the   boughs  o'erhead, 
Where  scritch-owl  nestled  on  his  riven  limb 

And  rabbit  bounded  to  a  snowy  bed. 

What  memories  of  lakes,  leaf -fringed  and  green, 
What  summer  revelries  with  birds  and  flowers 

Haunt  me  with  joy  whene'er  I  peer  atween 
The  mist  of  years  that  shrouds  those  happy  hours! 

The  sail  wide-flung  to  the  exultant  breeze, 
The  camp,  the  paddle's  dip,  the  sport,  the  song, 

The  fire  that  glowed  amidst  the  night-dark  trees, 
The  comradery  of  youth,  the  friendship  strong! 

And  there  was  love  to  warm  these  sylvan  days, 
New  dawning  with  its  wonder-working  spell, 

Op'ning  fair  vistas  down  the  darkling  ways 
Where  mystery  and  gentle  beauty  dwell. 

Then  were  my  eyes  to  poesy  unsealed 

And  common  things  grew  strange,  in  beauty  dight; 
Such  was  the  power  a  little  child  could  wield 

To  glorify  youth's  darkness  with  her  light. 

But  there  were  many  leagues  of  plain  and  height 
And  many  years  of  heavy  pain  for  me ; 

Westward  the  way  until  upon  my  sight 

Broke  the  wide  reaches  of  the  western  sea! 


A    Vision  of  the    West  43 

Ah,  California,  vestured  wild  and  fair, 

When  I  became  a  foster-child  of  thine, 
Breathing  the  balm  of  thy  pellucid  air, 

Beholding  night-starred  heaven's  bright  pageant  shine, 

Climbing  thy  dizzy  heights  to  see  the  world 

Empurpled  far  below  in  misty  sweep, 
And  watching  waves  of  ocean  grandly  hurled 

In  crests  of  triumph  from  the  tossing  deep, 

I  knew  that  thou  should'st  be  my  rightful  nurse, 
And  longed  to  grow  into  thy  ample  grace. 

Would  that  I  might  prove  worthy  to  rehearse 
In  loving  song  the  beauty  of  thy  face ! 

In  solitude  of  loveless  days  I  dwelt, 
Fretted  by  hours  that  brought  no  balm  of  rest; 

Before  the  altar  Truth  alone  I  knelt, 
An  eremite  of  science,  sore  oppressed. 

For  in  my  heart  waged  conflict  day  by  day; 

Before  me  loomed  the  crystal  heights  of  song; 
I  learned  that  facts,  construe  them  how  we  may, 

Deign  not  to  reckon  beauty,  right,  or  wrong. 

The  steeled  knife  may  probe  the  heart  of  man, 
But  love  alone  can  penetrate  his  soul ; 

Then  I  bethought  me  how,  since  time  began, 

'Tis  love  that  shapes  the  world  with  sweet  control. 

Amid  thy  mountains  did  the  vision  grow, 
I  saw  it  written  clear  on  pine  and  oak, 

'Twas  voiced  loud  on  windy  peaks  of  snow, 
And  on  the  sea's  bare  breast  its  anthem  woke. 


44  A    Vision   of  the    West 

Then  grew  the  vision  to  incarnate  guise ; 

The  shadow  form  in  living  truth  was  dight: 
I  looked  in  rapture  on  thy  steadfast  eyes, 

My  love,  and  saw  therein  the  dawning  light! 

Could  we  but  live  the  life  of  love  we  dream, 
Could  we  but  toil  to  make  it  firm  and  true, 

Could  we  but  live  with  such  ideal  supreme, 
Some  little  part  of  love's  high  task  to  do ! 

Thus  have  we  striv'n  to  gain  pure  beauty's  fire, 
Toiled  on,  tho'  clouds  hung  heavy  round  our  way 

And  little  lips  have  lisped  our  dear  desire, 
Teaching  us  how,  in  loving  deeds,  to  pray. 

Thou  art  a  daughter  of  the  untrammeled  West, 
Dear  wife,  endowed  with  largess  of  its  grace, 

But  with  a  calmness  in  thy  tender  breast 
Bespeaking  culture  of  a  gentler  race. 

In  thee  my  vision  finds  fulfilment  meet, 
In  thy  large  eyes  and  crown  of  golden  hair, 

In  thy  mild  ways,  thy  accents  fine  and  sweet, 
In  thy  dear  presence,  beautiful  and  fair. 

The  sun  that  swings  atop  the  hills  of  morn, 
The  crescent  dipping  toward  the  sea  at  night, 

The  chanting  forests  stirred  by  winds  new-born, 
High  peals  of  music  in  melodious  flight  — 

Aye,  all  fair  things  that  be,  when  thou  art  near, 
Partake  of  thy  loved  graciousness  serene, 

And  in  my  sight  the  woes  of  life  appear 
Robbed  by  thy  smile  of  all  their  heavy  teen. 


A    Vision  of  the    West  45 

Enough,  my  love,  of  gentle  things  and  mild ! 

There  is  in  this  rude  land  stern  work  to  do, — 
Harsh,  warring  creeds  that  must  be  reconciled, 

False  idols  to  be  felled,  and  paths  to  hew 

Up  heights  of  learning  —  summits  bright  of  song ; 

Men  need  we,  where  so  many  ape  the  few, 
To  sift  the  gold  of  right  from  sands  of  wrong, 

To  weigh  the  false  in  balance  with  the  true! 

O  for  the  clear  courageous  voice  to  tell 
Those  truths  which  men  would  fain  see  put  aside ! 

O  for  a  Circe  cup  wherewith  to  spell 
Back  to  their  own  true  guise  the  beasts  of  pride ! 

White  ships  depart  from  our  hill-circled  bay, 
Forth  faring  o'er  the  waste  of  pathless  sea; 

Does  love  propel  them  on  their  weary  way, 
And  do  they  go  to  make  the  world  more  free? 

Ah  sophists,  for  a  moment  face  the  fact 
That  freedom  must  be  practiced  to  be  learned ; 

Not  as  they  must  but  as  they  will  men  act 
When  tyranny  and  serfdom  have  been  spurned. 

The  vision  I  have  dreamed  through  years  of  pain 
I  cannot  barter  now  for  lands  and  power ; 

If  love  be  truth  then  empire  lust  is  vain, 
Foredoomed  to  crumble  with  the  passing  hour. 

But  there  are  men  in  this  proud  West  who  hold 
No  servile  check  to  utt' ranee  clear  and  high. 

Let  them  be  strong,  O  God,  and  true,  and  bold 
For  human  rights  afar  to  stoutly  cry! 


46  A    Vision   of  the    West 

Perchance  it  little  counts  for  thee  and  me 
What  fate  befalls  ten  million  alien  men  — 

The  spawn  of  tropic  isles  across  the  sea, 
That  dwelt  two  years  agone  beyond  our  ken, 

But  if  we  play  th'  oppressor  we  must  pay 
The  tyrant's  fee  to  time.  Beware  the  cost! 

Has  not  man-traffic  brought  enough  dismay? 
With  what  is  gained,  O  count  what  will  be  lost! 

Lost,  our  prized  birthright  —  love  for  all  things  free ; 

Lost,  pity  for  the  lowly  and  oppressed ; 
Lost,  love — what  other  loss  more  sad  could  be, 

A  land  with  love  evanished  from  its  breast! 

But  let  us  not  give  o'er  to  boding  fears, — 
The  right  must  triumph  and  the  true  prevail ; 

Tho'  justice  cost  a  nation  blood  and  tears 
The  love  at  heart  of  us  shall  never  fail. 

There  is  an  earnest  in  this  westward  slope 
Of  high  achievements,  glorious  enterprise, — 

A  mighty  stirring  of  expectant  hope: 
Still  on  beyond  the  El  Dorado  lies ! 

Beauty  shall  here  hold  court  upon  the  heights 
And  men  shall  fashion  temples  for  her  shrine, 

With  chantings  high  of  praise  and  starward  flights 
Of  silver  chords  and  organ's  throb  divine. 

The  sculptor  here  shall  hew  the  formless  stone 
To  shapes  of  beauty  dreamed  on  cloud-throned  crest ; 

The  painter  shall  reveal  what  he  alone 
Saw  as  he  brooded  on  th'  earth-mother's  breast. 


A    Vision   of  the    West  47 

The  Orient,  looming  through  its  mist  of  time, 
Shall  yield  its  garner' d  treasury  of  thought 

To  stamp  its  charact'ry  of  stablished  prime 

On  this  young  West  with  wealth  of  promise  fraught. 

I  thank  thee,  Fate,  that  thou  hast  rolled  my  star 

To  this  horizon  rife  with  latent  might, 
That  I  may  share  the  glories  reaching  far 

From  peaks  of  snow  to  sunset's  seaward  light, 

That  I  may  do  my  part,  though  slight  it  be, 
To  shape  the  chaos  into  beauty's  mold, 

In  nature's  sight,  which  holds  us  all  in  fee, 
To  toil  for  truth's  transcendent  sands  of  gold. 


48  Idyls  of  El  Dorado 


A    VOICE    ON    THE    WIND 

And  out  of  the  West  came  a  voice  on  the  wind :  — 
O  seek  for  the  truth  and  behold,  ye  shall  find ! 
O  strive  for  the  right  and  behold,  ye  shall  do 
All  things  that  the  Master  commandeth  of  you. 

For  love  is  the  truth  ye  have  sought  for  so  long, 
And  love  is  the  right  that  ye  strove  for  through  wrong ; 
Love!  love  spheres  our  lives  with  a  halo  of  fire, 
But  God,  how  'tis  dimmed  by  each  selfish  desire! 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  49 


AN    IDYL    OF    THE    PINES 

In  solitude  where  all  is  wild  and  fair, 

True  love  grows  strong  and  deep  beyond  compare; 

For  here  the  Master  of  the  high  serene 

Broods  with  joy-spirit  o'er  the  leafy  green, 

And  bends  to  beauty  every  leaf  and  flower 

That  smiles  in  token  of  his  loving  power. 

Here  wandered  you  and  I,  my  love,  alone, 

Harkening  to  swaying  pine  bough's  wintry  moan. 

From  oaks  the  leaves  of  gold  were  blown, 

And  sweet  as  children's  songs  the  tone 

Of  silver  rills 

Amid  the  hills. 

The  summer  birds  had  flown ; 

But  you  and  I,  my  love,  fled  not  away, — 

The  mountains  and  the  pines  breathed,  "Stay,  O  stay! 

Stay  where  the  squirrel  frisks  in  autumn  glee, 

Where  deer,  lithe-limbed,  in  woodsy  haunts  are  free, 

Where  freshening  showers  fall  to  start  the  green, 

Where  beauty  fondly  reigns  in  far  demense." 

We  heard  the  voice  of  peak  and  pine, 
We  saw  glad  autumn's  gold  sunshine; 
We  staid  to  tell,  in  close  entwine, 
The  secrets  God  and  lovers  only  know, 
By  wind  in  pines  reverberated  low. 

What  songs  of  gladness  thronged  October's  breeze, 
Stealing  atween  the  trellis  green  of  trees, 
Mingling  in  one  vast  symphony  of  praise 


50  An   Idyl  of  the  Pines 

For  Him  whose  largess  wrought  these  golden  days ! 

The  mountain  quail  loud  voiced  his  whistling  note, 

The  little  sparrow  shook  his  streaked  throat, 

The  lengthened  cadence  of  the  flicker's  call 

Fell,  joyous,  down  the  mighty  forest  hall, 

While  on  the  ground  the  crisp  leaves  lightly  stirred 

'Neath  rabbit's  bound  or  dainty  trip  of  bird. 

And,  dost  remember  love,  the  wavering  lines 

Of  forest-serried  ridges,  dark  and  still, 

The  mountain  slopes,  deep  furrowed,  robed  in  pines, 

The  yellow-barked  madrono  by  the  rill? 

The  poison-oak  glowed  all  aflame 

With  crimson  leaves  the  day  we  came ; 

The  wild  grapes  trailed  their  lace  of  gold, 

And  black  oaks  in  their  arms  did  hold 

The  glory  of  the  autumn  high 

Toward  clouds  of  white  that,  'gainst  the  sky, 

In  fleecy  masses  floated  by. 

Why  was  the  sky  so  deep  and  blue, 

And  why  the  day  so  fair? 
Was  earth  not  decked,  my  love,  for  you? 

The  mountains  little  care 
Whether  we  glory  in  their  might 

Or  sleep  beneath  their  sod, 
But  beauty  is  our  own  birthright  — 

Our  heritage  from  God. 

The  plump  grapes  hung  in  clusters  on  the  vine 
Beside  our  cottage  door,  the  bright  sunshine 
Purpling  the  branches  as  it  streamed  between 
The  lattice  where  they  grew,  a  royal  screen 


An   Idyl  of  the  Pines  51 

That  scarce  obscured  the  lovely  world  without, 
Decked  for  the  pageant  of  the  autumn's  rout. 

Then,  on  a  day, 

The  blustering  wind  twitched  off  the  mantle  gay  — 

Stripping  the  spent  leaves  from  their  boughs, 

Breathing  innumerable  tearful  vows 

Of  winter,  cold  and  gray. 

The  sapling  oaks  stood  'gainst  a  leaden  sky, 

Their  taper  branchlets  stiffly  turned  on  high, 

Purple  and  shivering  in  the  frosty  air, 

While  gnarled  patriarchs  with  hoar  trunks  stood  bare, 

Their  black  limbs  writhed  and  lifted  in  despair 

Like  olden  druids  in  beseeching  pose 

Telling  of  earth's  immeasurable  woes. 

The  rain  fell,  following  fast  upon  the  wind, 
Swelling  the  streams  that  answered  loud  its  voice. 
With  ceaseless  muffled  roar  all  night  the  blind 
Wild  surge  of  foaming  water  sang,  Rejoice! 
The  salmon  hied  them  from  the  ocean's  deep, 
Battling  against  the  torrent's  seaward  leap 
To  spawn  amid  the  mountain  pools  in  peace; 
And,  ere  the  sun  had  marked  the  rain's  surcease, 
The  birds  came  flocking  from  the  mountain  crest, — 
The  blithe  plump  robin  with  its  earth-red  breast, 
The  kinglet  green,  bedecked  in  crimson  crown, 
The  winter  wren,  a  merry  monk  in  brown, 
The  snowbird  gay,  the  sportive  chickadee, 
All  joined  the  festive  winter  revelry, 
Flitting  from  tree  to  tree 
And  shaking  off  the  beaded  crystals  bright 
Like  diamonds  on  the  needles  of  the  pine 


52  An  Idyl  of  the  Pines 

Left  by  the  rain  and  burnished  by  the  bright 
Clear  joyance  of  the  sun's  quick  flash  divine. 

Dark  loom  the  mountains  through  the  cloud, 
Their  peaks  still  cumbered  with  the  shroud 
Of  sullen  mist  about  them  spread ; 
The  drifted  snow  through  canons  down  is  led 
In  scraggling  hoary  beards  on  pine-clad  breasts. 
What  witchery  the  mountain's  shrine  invests 
When  the  great  bulwarks  of  the  sky  are  rent 
By  golden  shafts  of  sun  in  triumph  hurled, 
And  tokens  of  the  heaven's  all-reaching  tent 
Show,  still  immutable,  above  the  world ! 

O  was  it  not  a  joy,  my  love,  to  be 

Thus  face  to  face  with  earth's  divinity !  — 

To  see  the  splendor  growing  hour  by  hour, 

To  watch  the  changes  by  mysterious  power 

Wrought  in  the  rolling  clouds  and  mighty  hills, 

Flashing  down  valleys  with  such  quickening  thrills 

Of  light  and  mist,  bewildering  in  their  stream, 

As  would  the  very  rocks  from  death  redeem, 

Mossing  them  deep  in  lush  green  fronds  with  fair 

Fine  filaments  of  fern  — the  maiden-hair, 

The  gold-back  and  the  brake ! 

Out  of  the  stone  they  wake 

At  the  bidding  of  the  rain,  rain,  rain ; 

All  the  bounty  of  their  beauty  spread  in  vain, 

Save  for  you  and  me  to  love  them, 

Save  that  God  within  them  and  above  them 

Even  slighter  things  than  these  to  love  would  deign. 

And  O,  beloved,  dost  thou  not  recall 

The  solemn  splendor  of  the  night's  slow  fall  — 


An  Idyl  of  the  Pines  53 

The  fairy  pinnacles  of  pines  afar 

In  jetty  spires  upon  the  darkling  hill, 

The  waxing  brilliance  of  the  even  star, 

The  saffron  west  with  crimson  clouds  athrill  — 

The  sedgy  pools  that  'mid  the  shadows  shone, 

Haunted  by  blackbirds  in  melodious  throng, 

Clamoring  and  calling,  while  we  two,  alone, 

Listed  to  them  and  heard  the  night  wind's  song 

Come  swelling,  solemn,  through  the  pine  woods  vast? 

The  night  was  silent  when  the  choir  swept  past. 

Then,  in  the  gloam,  we  sought  the  meadow's  marge, 

The  dark  trees  looming  round  us  dim  and  large, 

And,  as  we  peered  amidst  their  umbery  shade, 

We  saw  proud  antlered  deer  walk  down  the  glade, 

Ready  at  sign  of  menace  swift  to  leap 

Far  into  cover  of  the  forest  deep. 

The  little  owl  his  flute-notes  trembled  low, 

The  stars  shone  dimly  through  the   west's  pale  glow; 

We  walked  as  in  a  trance  and  looked  above 

At  heaven's  o'erarching  sphere  of  boundless  love. 

Again  the  change,  again  the  rain, 

The  drip  of  eaves,  the  sleet  on  pane, 

The  sweep  of  winds  that  wail  and  blow, 

The  rattling  hail,  the  soundless  snow, — 

The  air  one  riot  of  wild,  whirling  flakes ! 

The  crested  jay  his  feathers  vainly  shakes, 

As  'mid  the  pines  he  lurks,  disconsolate, 

Crouching  to  'scape  the  storm  that  blusters  round; 

The  squirrels,  snug  in  hollows,  drowse  and  wait — 

The  still  earth  echoes  to  no  living  sound. 

Out  of  the  leaden,  close-investing  clouds 

The  white  flakes  tumble  in  tumultuous  crowds, 


54  An  Idyl  of  the  Pines 

Until  the  earth,  in  ermine  muffled  deep, 
Settles,  content,  into  a  soundless  sleep. 

It  seems  but  yestereve,  dear  love,  when  all 

The  earth  lay  tranced  'neath  silent,  snow-spread  pall, 

While  you  and  I,  close-bosomed,  heart  to  heart, 

Looked  on  the  waste,  in  solitude  apart 

From  turmoil  and  the  vexing  toil  of  life. 

For  one  brief  span  were  lonely  fancies  rife, 

Till,  from  the  hearts  of  mighty  poets  dead, 

We  peopled  the  wide  solitude  with  shades 

And  spirits  fair  whose  shining  pathway  led 

With  hymeneal  paeans  to  the  glades 

Of  Tempe  or  the  dread  Olympian  heights, 

Or  to  the  heavens  whence  chaunts  of  angels  fell, 

While  starry  torches  beamed  their  twinkling  lights 

And  wrought  on  mortals  their  mysterious  spell. 

Sing  with  me,  love,  in  the  fire  light, 

Sing  with  me,  love,  and  be  gay ! 

Storms  blow  around  us, 

Pine  trees  are  sighing, 

White  flakes  are  flying, 

Winter  has  found  us  — 

But  can  we  not  sing  of  the  May, 

My  love,  as  we  sit  in  the  fire  light? 

The  morning  dawned  with  wonder-work  to  show !  — 
The  hills  and  forests  wide  bespread  with  snow  — 
A  wilderness  of  white  o'erhung  with  gray 
And  rifts  of  blue  above  the  mountain's  brow; 
The  tranquil  hush  slow  ushered  in  a  day 
Made  sacred  by  the  winter's  snow-sealed  vow. 


An   Idyl  of  the   Pines  55 

The  oak's  black  tracery  showed  blacker  still 
Against  the  white  that  margined  twig  and  spray. 
The  dark  firs  loomed  anear  the  ice-bridged  rill 
With  snow  enwreathed  in  glorious  array; 
The  long  pine  needles,  pressed  beneath  the  weight 
Of  piled  snow,  were  pointing  toward  the  ground. 
A  lone  woodpecker  shrilled  to  absent  mate, 
A  rabbit  'scaped  the  open,  bound  on  bound. 

It  was  a  spectacle  of  beauty  rare, 
This  miracle  of  snow  so  fair, 
Piled  over  mountain,  vale  and  tree, 
For  nothing  in  the  wide,  wide  world 
More  stainless  or  more  pure  could  be. 
Methought  it  did  but  image  thee, 
My  love,  so  full  of  maiden  mystery, 
So  calm,  so  fair,  so  free ! 

Bleak  winter's  day  is  spent;  with  thrill  of  life 

The  spring  is  near! 

With  flowers  dear 

The  woodland  wastes  give  praise,  and  there  is  rife 

A  spirit  of  keen  rapture,  a  wild  bliss, 

A  nameless  something  which  we  cannot  miss 

And  still  grow  spirit-wise, —  a  soul  aglow 

With  the  fine  gold  of  buttercup,  a  sudden  flow 

Of  heart-blood  to  the  temples ;  for  behold 

The  nodding  pepper-grass  unfolds  its  petals  white, 

So  daintily  upreaching  from  the   mold, 

And  in  the  woods  there  is  a  royal  sight 

Where  shooting  stars,  in  purple  dight, 

With  black  beaks,  yellow-rimmed,  are  swayed 

By  each  soft  breeze  that  haunts  the  glade. 


56  An  Idyl  of  the  Pines 

All  spirits,  life-endued,  now  greet  the  sun ;  — 
The  Ethiop  spiders  in  the  roadway  run, 
The  spermophiles  beside  their  burrows  call, 
And,  silent,  wavering  in  its  rise  and  fall, 
A  veined  Vanessa  flutters  through  the  dell, 
Trembles  in  fragile  beauty  on  a  bell, 
And,  honey-surfeited,  light  flits  away. 
Bird  strains  uprise  to  glad  the  balmy  day, 
The  praiseful  choir  ascending  pure  and  high. 
The  wine  of  life  has  fallen  from  the  sky 
To  quicken  every  clod  so  cold  and  dumb ! 

Methought  the  resurrection  day  had  come, 

For  joyous  spirits  rose  on  every  side 

And  smiled  at  you,  my  own  beloved  bride. 

Then,  at  full  tide  of  happy  spring,  it  fell 

That  we  should  leave  these  tender  spirits  known 

And  loved  so  keenly  —  leave  the  ferny  dell, 

The  hymning  forest,  the  cool,  joyous  tone 

Of  brook-plash  —  leave  the  flowers  and  birds,  the  sense 

Of  nearness  to  the  power  that  carved  the  hills, 

The  wild  awakening  of  spring,  intense 

In  rush  of  joy  across  the  land  that  thrills 

Each  teeming  clod  upon  the  fruitful  earth. 

Yea,  in  our  hearts  felt  we  a  second  birth, 

An  advent  of  unwonted  spirit  power 

To  be  close  cherished  from  that  vernal  hour. 

We  left  the  pines  and  years  have  swept  us  on 

Some  measure  of  our  way,  but  there  has  gone 

Aye  with  us  an  ineffable  serene 

Content  that  cometh  from  the  mountains  green, 

A  nearer  vision,  and  a  clearer  light 

That  quenchless  beams  amid  the  darkest  night. 


WOODLAND    TALES    HESPERIAN 

WHEREIN    ARE   NARRATED   NATURE    MYTHS 
OF   CALIFORNIA 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  59 


INDUCTION 

When  Greekish  groves  by  Nereids  were  trod 

And  seas  were  populous  with  Tritons  fair, 

When  through  high  heav'n  the  splendid  god  of  light 

Urged  his  flame  chariot  from  dawn  to  dark, 

And  from  Olympus  thunder' d  Zeus  the  law, 

In  haunts  remote  another  race  divine 

For  beauty  strove  amid  green  lawns  and  bow'rs, 

Making  the  mountains  vocal  with  their  songs. 

Here  dreamed  the  fair  Hesperides,  I  ween, 

In  gardens  of  the  west  all  girt  about 

With  solemn  sea  and  waste  of  pathless  sand 

Enchanted  vales,  unfooted  save  by  gods, 

Report  whereof  scarce  touched  sage  Homer's  ear, 

So  shrouded  in  seclusion  were  their  halls, 

So  distant  from  Troy's  battlements  their  heights. 

Proud  mountains  towered  about  the  blissful  plains, 

Their  pinnacles  high  thrust  amid  the  blue, 

And  California  was  yclept  this  fair 

God-haunted  region  by  the  foaming  sea. 

Had  I  the  magic  of  forgotten  song 

'Twould  be  a  joy  to  conjure  into  thought 

Full  blown,  the  wonder  of  that  peerless  time, 

To  make  old  gods  live  brightly  on  my  page, 

Warring  and  wooing  as  in  olden  day, 

Beauteous  and  brave  and  full  of  mighty  strife ; 

But,  like  a  minstrel  wandered  farfrom  home 

Who  sees  men  knit  their  brows  against  his  song, 

I  falter,  fearing  lest  my  tale  shall  fall 

On  alien  ears  and  skeptic  brains  to-day. 


60  Induction 

Howbeit,  some  fragments  must  I  strive  to  sing 
Of  that  forgotten  life,  that  golden  time 
Beyond  the  ken  of  mortals,  vanished  quite, 
Like  brooding  dream  which  mem'ry  dim  recalls. 
.    For  scarce  a  name  is  left  to  haunt  the  heights 
Whereon  they  strove  so  zealously  for  grace, 
And  scarce  a  flow'ret  lifts  its  modest  head 
Those  lovers'  beauty  to  immortalize; 
But  Shasta  lives,  a  glorious,  crowned  cone, 
And  still  Sequoias  tow'r  in  woodland  glades; 
The  goddess  fair,  Godetia,  smiles,  a  flow'r, 
And  Colias,  golden-winged,  about  her  flits, 
Even  as  in  that  blest  age  he  longed  to  be 
Circling  about  her  modest  loveliness. 
Of  these  and  kindred  shall  I  forth  recount 
Such  high  emprise  as  misty  legends  tell, 
Echoing  their  travails  in  my  wild  wood  tales. 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  61 


HOW    SHASTA    WON    THE    FIRE 

Being  a  myth  of  the  lava-flows  of  early  times 

A  gnomish  race  toiled  deep  in  earth  recess, 

A  host  misshaped  and  black,  of  wild  demean, 

In  stony  caverns  fettered  and  debased, 

The  slaves  of  Mica,  lord  of  nether  world. 

For  him  they  delved  and  strove  with  forged  bars, 

They  made  fair  crystals  bloom  in  tombs  of  death, 

Conjuring  strange  beauty  of  amorphous  stone, — 

The  vermile  cinnabar,  the  turquoise  blue, 

The  tinted  quartz  with  ruddy  gold  entwined. 

With  fire  they  wrought  their  subtle  alchemy 

Whereby  earth  chambers  were  so  wond'rous  deck'd, 

And  'mid  their  haunts  below  they  pent  their  flame, 

Lest  they  be  reft  of  this  their  talisman. 

It  happed  that  Mica  strove  with  lords  of  day 

In  deadly  feud,  and  wrought  them  havoc  sore, 

Whelming  their  plains  with  cinders  blown  abroad 

Or  spreading  molten  rock  on  their  demesne, 

Shaking  the  earth  with  mad  convulsive  throes, 

And  opening  pits  hell-deep,  that  fearful  yawned. 

The  gods  of  day  by  no  device  could  smite 

Fell  Mica  with  his  flame-entrenched  throng 

And  knew  not  how  a  host  so  armed  to  quell. 

In  solemn  state  convened  they  sought  device 

Whereby  to  stay  great  Mica's  mailed  hand 

And  save  from  ravage  all  their  royal  vales. 

In  that  bright  group  stood  Calochortus  fair, 

Prince  of  celestial  powers  in  Hesperus, 


62  How   Shasta    Won   the  Fire 

Clad  all  in  golden  vesture  purple  pied, 

And  haughty  Aster  in  his  raiment  bright, 

And  fair  Sturnellus  with  his  silver  flute. 

The  sad  Lycentra  statue-like  was  poised 

In  folded  marble  robe,  as  if  she  knew 

What  fate  was  darkly  brooding  for  her  woe, 

And  eke  Vanessa  swayed  on  trembling  wing, 

A  fairy  goddess  of  the  woodsy  flow'rs. 

They  met  in  that  mad  vale  Yosemite, 

High-domed  about  with  purple  peaks  of  snow, 

With  crags  where  thunder-clouds  austerely  rest, 

With  falls  far  leaping  in  a  trembling  mist 

From  skyward  peaks,  all  wreathed  in  rainbow  spans, 

With  vernal  slopes  upreaching  toward  the  blue, 

And  swardy  floor  with  patens  bright  of  flow'rs. 

There  sage  Atharpos,  councillor  of  gods, 

Uplifted  thus  his  voice  to  heedful  ears: 

"Mistake  not  thy  vain  prowess,  peers,  I  pray! 

In  vain  we  cope  with  foe  in  armor  dight 

Of  fire,  whose  lance  is  flame,  whose  voice  is  death. 

'Tis  not  misprision  of  high  duty,  no, 

Nor  frailty  nor  fear  that  thwarts  our  might, 

But  only  fire,  and  this  alone  our  bane. 

Could  some  one  penetrate  his  sombrous  port 

From  thence  to  bear  a  brand  of  quickening  flame, 

Well  might  we  hope  for  vantage  in  the  strife." 

He  ceased,  and  loud  approval  stirred  the  host 

While  many  a  god  would  fain  be  first  to  seek 

In  deadly  hazard  the  forbidden  fire. 

To  Shasta  fell  the  high-renowned  trust 

Of  delving  lone  to  Mica's  molten  halls 

And  well  the  peril  did  become  his  zeal. 


How  Shasta    Won   the  Fire  63 

He  was  a  god  serene  of  countenance, 

Of  lofty  stature  and  majestic  mien. 

Mantled  in  white  he  stood,  with  rim  of  gold 

Tracing  fair  flowers  about  his  gracious  form. 

Forth  strode  he  to  the  north  where  grew  a  peak 

Aloft  toward  cloudland,  swelling  from  the  plain, 

Its  crest  all  hoar  with  century-garnered  snow, 

Whence  issued  ominous  jets  of  sulph'rous  smoke, 

And  fearful  flames  in  lurid  tongues  flashed  out 

From  Mica's  dark  dominions  deep  within. 

He,  nothing  loth,  swept  up  from  height  to  height, 

Past  meadows  of  fair  flowers,  through  gloomed  wood, 

O'er  waste  of  rock,  up  height  on  height  of  snow, 

Till,  from  the  crowning  pinnacle  he  viewed 

The  fair  earth  swooning  dizzily  below, 

With  purple  mist-hung  valleys  wide  and  wild, 

With  serried  ridges  'mid  the  clouds  afloat, 

Peaks  half  revealed  and  pinnacles  of  fire 

Where  flashed  the  sun  on  sparkling  wastes  of  snow. 

At  foot  of  him  gaped  wide  the  dark  abyss 

Down  into  Mica's  halls,  whence  belched  sounds 

Of  conflict  and  of  toil,  the  hiss  of  steam, 

The  stithy's  mighty  roar,  and  voices  weird 

In  babel  of  unearthly  broil  below. 

He  paused  at  that  dark  threshold,  then,  unfeared 

Down  plunged  in  the  gaping  gulf  of  flame 

To  meet  what  fate  might  wait  him  at  hell's  throne. 

As  deep  he  spun  down  darksome  pit  of  death 

The  air  pulsed  fast  with  thunder-throbs  and  gleams 

Of  fearful  light  came  flashing  on  his  brain; 

Fierce  smote  they  him  and  fiercer,  till  he  swooned, 

So  wild  the  tumult  round  about  him  grew. 


64  How  Shasta    Won  the  Fire 

Then,  roused,  he  heard  a  gradual,  far-off  stir 

Such  as  the  tremulous  wind  in  hush  of  night 

'Mid  forest  branches  makes,  or  waves  that  moan 

With  many- voiced  lips  on  pebbled  strand. 

It  was  the  murmur  of  the  minion  host 

Paying  their  orisons  at  Mica's  throne. 

Upstarting  he  beheld  a  pageant  weird 

Of  flame-wrought  pillars  marshaled  without  end 

Down  fearful  lanes  of  fire  where  in  and  out 

Moved  Mica's  serfs  to  do  his  awful  will. 

Naked  they  were,  grim  ^Ethiops,  tricked  in  chains 

Of  massy  gold  about  their  lusty  waists, 

And  jewels  glistered  bright  around  their  necks 

Or  gleamed   on  pendants  wrought  with  cunning  skill. 

As  swift  they  glided  through  the  glowing  aisles 

They  chanted  incoherent  strains  of  praise, 

Mumbling  in  muffled  tones  their  mad  acclaim. 

At  head  of  all,  throned  Mica  swayed  the  court, 

Circled  with  such  candescent  burst  of  light 

As  dimmed  all  lesser  flame  ;  and  at  his  nod 

Wound  in  and  out  the  slaves  in  tide  of  toil. 

Two  basilisks  crouched,  horrid,  at  his  feet, 

Their  tails  a-quiver  and  their  eyes  a-fire, 

Ready  to  dartle  death  at  sign  or  word. 

Such  spectacle  of  awe  met  Shasta' s  sight 

As  stately  moved  he  on  to  Mica's  throne. 

When  the  stern  king  of  fire  beheld  his  foe 

Advance  thus  singly  down  the  halls  of  death 

With  countenance  serene  and  footing  sure 

He  eyed  him  in  amaze,  then,  fearful,  spake: 

' '  Proud   prince  of   summer  sun  and  woodland  flowers, 

Impotent  lord  of  light  in  realms  of  air, 


How  Shasta    Won   the   Fire  65 

What  mad  emprise  has  bent  thy  steps  to  me, 

What  insolence  is  this,  to  penetrate 

These  halls  of  flame  unbidden  to  my  throne?" 

Then  Shasta  spake,  with  mien  majestical 

And  accents  calm:     "I  come  to  thy  wild  court 

To  challenge  thee,  renowned  prince  of  flame. 

Thou  knowest  'tis  not  thy  sturdy  heart  and  hand 

That  renders  thee  invincible  in  strife; 

For  in  these  chambers  mewed  thou  hidest  low 

To  marshal  thy  tumultuous  host  of  fire, 

Which  in  fierce  rabble  whelms  our  fields  in  woe 

And  ravages  our  vales."    Then  dark  the  brow 

Of  Mica  grew  and  fierce  his  basilisks 

Heaved    their    scaled    sides    and    shook  their  warning 

tails, 

Whilest  minions  pressed  about  th'  aroused  throne. 
"Have  care,  O  Shasta,  how  thou  speakest  here, 
We  brook  no  flouting  speech  in  halls  of  hell." 
"We  ask  but  justice,  mighty  king  of  death, 
And  as  thou  art  a  god  thou  can'st  not  spurn 
Our  plea.    We  crave  a  brand  of  living  fire 
That  we  may  fight  thee  in  more  equal  strife; 
Then  shalt  thou  be  accounted  worthy  foe." 
"Vain  suppliant,"  answered  Mica,  wrath  and  scorn 
Contending  in  his  subtle  countenance, 
"Thou  shalt  have  flame  enough,  we  promise  thee. 
To  thy  compeers  ascend  with  gift  from  us 
Of  swinging  censer  of  unquenched  fire, 
And  use  it  as  thou  mayest  for  weal  or  woe." 
So  saying  he  clapt  his  hands  with  such  uproar 
As  thunder-peal  across  a  boisterous  sea. 
The  pillared  hall  grew  dim,  and  all  the  scene 


66  How  Shasta    Won   the  Fire 

Shuddered  to  nothingness  in  Shasta's  sight. 
Again  he  stood  upon  the  heights  of  snow 
With  earth  far  flung  in  darkness  at  his  feet 
And  overhead  the  mighty  shield  of  night 
Studded  with  myriad  stars  that  splendid  shone. 
Within  his  hand  he  held  a  censer  rare 
Enwrought  of  gold  and  bossed  with  ornaments, 
Whence  glimmed  bright  coals  of  fire  that  smoked  and 

flamed 

Alternate  with  the  wind  that  breathed  and  died. 
"Eureka!"  sang  the  god,  as  down  he  sped 
O'er  dizzy  crags  and  fissures  deeply  cleft 
'Twixt  him  and  meadows  slumbering  at  his  feet. 
Such  speed  he  made  that  ere  dawn  flushed  the  sky 
He  had  retraced  the  weary  leagues  of  way 
Which  intervened  ere  he  might  make  proclaim 
To  his  leagued  host  of  how  his  quest  had  fared 
At  court  of  that  remorseless  king  of  fire. 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  67 

COLIAS    AND    GODETIA 

Being  a  myth  of  a  golden  butterfly  and  a  summer  flower 

A  thrill  of  triumph  stirred  the  vales  of  fear, 

When  fires  were  flashed  from  peak  to  answ'ring  peak, 

Charged  with  high  hopes  of  victory  in  strife 

With  mid-earth  despot.     Round  each  blazing  pyre 

A  chanting  multitude  of  gods  convened 

Like  worshippers  of  flame  about  their  shrine. 

While  these  enthused  bands  were  fondly  spelled 

In  rapture  round  their  fiery  altars  bright, 

Their  new-found  fetish  wrought  them  havoc  sore ; 

For  when  most  brightly  lapped  the  tongues  of  flame 

Young  Colias,  Shasta's  own  beloved  seed, 

Exulting,  leaped  upon  the  cruel  flame 

Ere  hand  could  stay  his  frenzy.     Forth  he  rolled 

A  ruin  of  his  lovely  childish  grace, 

Deformed  and  scarred  into  a  monstrous  guise. 

In  vain  was  grief,  in  vain  fond  loving  words ; 

He  lived,  but  with  the  semblance  of  a  brute, 

And  one  most  fair  'sumed  aspect  most  debased. 

No  heart  had  the  immortals  then  to  range 

Their  leaguers  for  the  fight  with  such  a  fell 

And  fiendish  implement  as  this  of  fire, 

So  none  gainsaid  King  Mica's  vandal  might 

Or  dared  to  trespass  more  on  Tophet's  deep. 

Young  Colias  grew  to   godhood,  scarred   and  shunned, 

For  the  immortals  feared  unloveliness 

E'en  as  the  flowers  that  shrink  from  frosty  air. 

Still  did  the  fire  him  hold  in  utter  thrall 

Until  in  turn  he  ruled  where  late  he  slaved. 


68  Colias  and  Godetia 

He  washed  the  sands  for  gold  and  with  his  flame 

Fashioned  the  grains  to  shapes  of  curved  grace; 

Hot  metal  did  he  beat  to  beauty  rare, 

Tracing  the  forms  of  flow'rs  on  chalice  bright 

Or  bossing  plates  with  leafy  ornament. 

Such,  then,  his  task,  and  with  his  toil  he  grew 

Gentle  and  loving  in  his  loneliness, 

Gracious  to  all  that  lived  and  craved  his  care. 

The  lame  coyote,  fearless,  round  him  limped, 

The  slender  doe  led  up  her  dappled  fawn 

For  his  caress,  the  mother  thrush,  her  young. 

Frail  flowers  he  tended  when  the  wanton  tread 

Of  some  wood-rover  had  their  beauty  spoiled. 

But  higher  yearned  his  heart  than  beast  or  flow'r; 

Thus  sundered  from  his  kind  he  needs  must  feel 

Love-stifled  and  forlorn.    Could  he  but  know 

The  rapture  of  an  answered  sympathy, 

The  thrill  of  god-communion,  heart  to  heart ! 

But  when  he  reached  his  hand,  beseeching,  forth 

To  some  fair  nymph  amidst  the  leafy  grove 

She  shrank  away  as  in  a  deadly  fear 

And  left  him  lingering  there,  despised  and  lorn. 

It  seemed  of  all  the  world  that  he  alone 

Was  loveless,  he  who  knew  so  well  how  dear 

A  boon  was  love  to  tender  soul  of  youth. 

Amid  a  fertile  vale  anear  the  sea 

There  did  abide  a  nymph,  surpassing  fair, 

Who  tenderly  o'erwatched  the  woodland  flow'rs, 

Moisting  the  earth  about  their  dainty  stems 

And  op'ning  tardy  petals  for  the  bee, 

Or  spreading  leafy  tents  against  the  sun 

When  with  too  fierce  a  heat  he  smote  the  groves. 


Colias   and  Godetia  69 

She  was  a  paragon  of  beauty  bright, 

Gold -tressed  and  rosy  tinted,  with  an  eye 

Made  blue  by  looking  fixedly  at  heav'n, 

And  with  a  slender  grace  beyond  compare. 

Full  many  a  suitor  had  besought  her  love 

And  many  a  proud  heart  had  she  humbled  sore, 

For  vainly  had  they  pled,  though  bright  their  name 

And  lofty  their  degree.    It  chanced  that  one 

Adorer  proffered  her  in  pledge  of  love 

A  golden  cup  by  Colias  richly  wrought, 

Patterned  with  tender  tracery  of  flowers ; 

Whereat  she  cried,  "  Could  I  but  see  the  god 

Who  fashioned  such  rare  lovliness,  meseems 

To  him  I'd  give  what  others  seek  in  vain." 

Then  proud  her  suitor  laughed  a  scornful  laugh, 

"  Despised  of  all  the  heavenly  host  he  dwells," 

Cried  he,  "a  god  deformed,  abhorred  and  spurned." 

"Hath  he  done  aught  in  malice  or  in  shame?" 

Then  'quired  Godetia  fair.     "'Tis  not  his  deeds 

That  shame  the  god,  fair  nymph,"  he  uttered  sooth, 

"For  he  is  gentle  past  all  reckoning, 

But  verily  misfortune  so  hath  chanced 

That  in  his  visage  strange  beyond  belief 

Is  he  misfeatured." 

"Would  that  I  might  know," 
She  made  return,  "a  being  so  deformed 
But  with  an  inner  beauty  so  complete!" 
Then  Aster,  her  proud  suitor,  thought  to  bend 
To  his  preferment  her  capricious  whim 
And  vowed  he'd  bring  sad  Colias  to  her  bow'r, 
That  she  might  gaze  upon  his  ruined  face ; 
With  this  resolve  forthwith  to  execute 


jo  Colias  and   Godetia 

He  fleeted  down  the  vale  far  past  her  ken. 

When  on  the  morrow  with  his  consort  strange 

Came  Aster  to  Godetia,  she  was  deep 

In  toil  amidst  her  blooms  and  saw  them  not 

Until  they  stood  expectant  at  her  side  — 

Proud  Aster  with  the  shy,  ill-formed  one, 

Unhappy  Colias,  to  receive  her  scorn. 

All  flushed  with  lightsome  toil  she  rose,  a  bright 

Enthralling  child  in  an  enchanted  grove, 

A  rosy  goddess,  radiant  as  the  spring. 

She  welcomed  them  with  words  of  soft  acclaim 

And  smiled  on  that  seared  face  of  passion,  turned 

In  piteous  appeal  to  her  clear  eye. 

Then  all  the  pent  love  of  past  hopeless  years 

Surged  madly  through  the  heart  of  Colias, 

And  with  due  adoration  kneeling  low 

He  paid  fond  rev'rence  to  Godetia's  grace. 

But  Aster  looked  disdainful  on  the  twain 

For  he  had  summoned  Colias  there  to  meet 

Averted  eyes  and  scant  civility, 

Trusting  to  thus  augment  his  own  high  grace 

In  sight  of  her  he  coveted  for  bride. 

With  brief  adieu  he  rustled  down  the  vale 

Renouncing  one  who  so  complacently 

Her  favors  spent  on  all  who  sought  her  bow'r. 

When  he  had  ta'en  his  way  the  nymph  'gan  speak 

To  Colias  of  his  craft  and  graciously 

Did  she  extol  the  wonder  of  his  skill, 

The  art  wherewith  he  twined  her  dearest  flowers 

In  ornament  on  stubborn  metal  wrought. 

They  talked  of  beauteous  things  for  many  an  hour, 

And  when,  reluctant,  he  departed  slow, 


Colzas  and   Godetia  71 

'Twas  with  assurance  of  renewed  delight. 

Thenceforth  he  oft  in  secret  sought  her  dell, 

Trusting  no  more  the  garish  light  of  day, 

But  stealing,  tiptoe  down  the  lanes  of  eve 

To  whisper  secrets  'neath  the  tranced  stars. 

Emboldened  then,  he,  trembling,  did  aver 

That  could  he  taste  one  rapturous  kiss  of  love 

He  should  be  straight  transfigured  from  his  guise 

Of  brute  deformity  to  godly  mien. 

She  forthwith  wound  her  arms  about  his  neck 

Like  some  fond  seraph  who  would  glorify 

All  things  corruptible  to  godliness, 

And  left  imprint  of  love  on  his  wan  lips. 

Thus  postured  she  did  feel  him  swoon  away, 

A  shadow  or  a  dream  that  haunts  the  night, 

A  phantasy,  a  wraith  receding  dim 

To  nothingness  upon  the  silent  air. 

"Colias!"  she  called,  but  heard  no  answ'ring  voice 

Save  that  the  hills  beat  back  her  silver  cry. 

Then  all  night  long  she  fled  from  height  to  height, 

Voicing  her  frenzy  till  the  gods  gave  ear 

And  pitied  her  but  could  not  cure  her  bane. 

Fear  haunted,  on  she  sped  and  ever  cried 

For  Colias,  but  in  vain.    The  starry  night 

Had  snatched  him  to  its  void,  the  azure  deep 

Had  buried  him  in  its  unfathomed  realm. 

One  eve,  as  from  a  peak  she  sadly  viewed 

The  sun  down  rolling  toward  th'  ensanguined  sea, 

A  figure  all  of  gold  came  winging  bright 

Out  of  the  empyrean,  swift  and  true, 

Shaping  its  course  for  her  high  pinnacle. 


72  Colias  and   Godetia 

Down  sloped  the  splendid  form  on  pens  of  gold, 

Checking  his  flight  as  near  her  post  he  came, 

A  cherub  clothed  in  glorious  majesty. 

At  side  of  her  he  stood  with  flashing  eye 

And  proud  arched  lip  that  quivered  as  he  said: 

"Thou  knowest  me  not,  Godetia!"  when  a  cry 

Burst  from  her  throat:  "My  Colias,  thou  hast  come!" 

Then  tenderly  upgathered  he  his  love 

And  spread  his  pinions  to  the  radiant  sky, 

Forth  launching  toward  the   sun  that  splendid  rolled 

Its  flaming  car  beneath  th'  exultant  wave. 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  73 


THE   DESCENT   OF   BOREAS 

Wherein  is  narrated  the  contest  of  the  host  of  spring  with  the  ice 
of  the  glacial  age 

When  the  bright  host  of  gods  Hesperian 

Despaired  of  coping  with  great  Mica's  storm, 

Nor  longer  hoped  with  might  of  flame  to  wring 

Submission  from  their  arch  antagonist, 

They  counseled  long  for  other  means  to  quell 

The  quenchless  tumult  in  their  golden  realm. 

In  solemn  conference  Atharpos  spake 

Of  new  devices  to  o'ercome  their  foe. 

He,  hoary  bearded  and  sage  countenanced, 

Was  doomed  to  speak  persuasive  words  of  woe ; 

For  specious  were  his  arguments  and  shrewd, 

Though  false  as  serpent's  tongue  his  winning  tale. 

Fraught  with  dire  consequence  all  unforeseen. 

"There  is  a  god  above  all  others  strong," 

He  said,  "who  rules  in  frigid  realms  afar. 

He  is  hight  Boreas  and  his  scepter  sways 

Remorseless  over  land  and  sea  and  air. 

Icy  his  countenance  and  hoar  as  death! 

His  mantle  sweeps  in  folds  of  driven  snow, 

His  hoarse  voice  mingles  with  the  fearful  blast 

That  blusters  big  with  storm  on  peaks  afar; 

In  his  fell  train  a  million  vassals  ride 

With  keen  cold  spears  of  death  to  hurl  with  wrath 

From  heights  aerial  on  shrinking  foe. 

Could  we  but  gain  his  grace,  our  cause  t'  espouse 

And  bid  him  speed  to  our  dominions  fair, 

Soon  would  he  pen  proud  Mica  in  his  tomb." 


74  The  Descent  of  Boreas 

Thus  spake  Atharpos,  and  the  host  approved, 

So  blinded  in  their  zeal  that  none  foresaw 

What  dread  results  would  follow  his  advent. 

For  messenger  young  Trochilus  the  Red 

They  chose  to  seek  out  Boreas  in  his  lair. 

And  fit  their  choice,  for  none  more  fleet  than  he 

To  overpass  the  trackless  wilderness ! 

He  was  a  pygmy  god,  but  fair  to  see 

In  ruddy  vestments  with  a  bronzed  casque 

And  gorget  shining  like  a  mimic  sun. 

Alert  and  swift  he  speeded  o'er  the  waste, 

Undaunted  by  the  van  that  menaced  him 

Of  pallid  snow-wraiths,  chanting  dirges  wild 

About  the  haunts  austere  of  Boreas. 

On,  on  he  pressed,  till  at  the  gate  he  stood 

Of  that  hoar  polar  palace  cold  and  grim ; 

Within  the  walls  wild  voices  raved  and  roared, 

The  parl  of  blust'ring  ice-gods  turbulent, 

And  stinging  spears  were  hurled  by  hands  unseen, 

And  half-discovered  forms  went  shudd'ring  past. 

Nathless  the  messenger  of  gods  advanced 

Answering  the  challenge  at  the  icy  gates 

And  pressing  to  the  presence  of  the  king. 

A  fearful  master  was  the  lord  of  snow, 

Of  massive  bulk  and  visage  stern  as  death, 

All  white  and  terrible,  with  eyes  that  shone 

As  cold  as  stars  above  the  wintry  drifts. 

His  voice  made  quake  the  glistering  peaks  with  fear, 

Stifling  all  lesser  tumult  with  its  din 

As  down  the  buttressed  walls  of  ice  it  rolled. 

When  Trochilus  had  made  his  eager  plea, 

Dilating  on  the  lovely  vales  despoiled, 


The  Descent  of  Boreas  75 

The  great  god  tossed  his  mighty  head  and  roared  : 
"Tell  all  thy  impotent  god  host  afar 
For  Boreas  to  make  way.    We  shall  explore 
These  gardens  of  rare  wonder  and  shall  ride 
Caparisoned  for  war;  and  we  shall  build 
Vast  tombs  of  ice  to  sepulcher  thy  foe. 
The  rills  shall  stiffen  and  the  rivers  freeze, 
The  earth  be  overlaid  with  robe  of  death, 
The  air  be  choked  with  winged  barbs  of  snow. 
Mica  shall  tremble  in  his  mid-earth  keep: 
But  let  all  things  that  haunt  the  land  beware, 
For  they  must  perish  or  swift  haste  away." 
Then  Trochilus,  who  erst  had  fearless  been 
Grew  all  aquiver  with  unwelcome  fright 
And  swift  forth  dartled  southward  to  apprise 
His  bright  companions  of  impending  doom 
More  fearful  than  the  wrack  by  Mica  wrought. 
Ah !  there  was  consternation  when  he  came 

With  missive  ominous ;  the  Naiades 

Wept  in  their  groves  and  solemn  gods  were  bowed 

With  voiceless  weight  of  grief,  for  well  they  knew 

'  Twere  vain  to  strive  '  gainst  foe  invincible. 

With  heavy  teen  they  bade  their  loved  bow'rs 

A  fond  farewell  and  gathered  on  the  heights 

In  vain  persuasion  of  unfounded  fears. 

Upon  the  north  peaks  loomed  a  heavy  cloud, 

Slow  mantling  the  horizon  with  its  mist. 

Chill  grew  the  air  and  far-off  strains  were  heard 

Of  wild  wind  voices  in  inchoate  calls 

As  of  an  army  waging  strife  afar. 

Then  came  the  crash  of  mighty  beasts  in  fear 

Swinging  their  pond'rous  limbs   down  mountain  vales, 


7  6  The  Descent  of  Boreas 

The  shagged  mastodons  with  tusks  outcurved 

Tramped  with  a  thund'rous  tread,  their  trunks  in  air, 

Bellowing  as  on  they  swept  to  'scape  the  storm. 

Ten  thousand  panting  birds,  swift-winged,  flashed  by, 

Fleeting  in  panic  south  before  the  foe. 

The  cloud  advanced  and  maiden  forms  were  seen 

Of  snow- wraiths  chanting  runic  strains  of  death, 

A  multitude  of  spectres  strange  and  wild. 

Then  followed  forms  of  spearmen  girt  in  mail 

Of  sheened  silver,  with  bright,  leveled  spears 

That  glistened  from  a  dreary  leaden  pall. 

Far  as  sight  followed  stretched  the  multitude, 

Melting  in  distance  to  a  pallid  cloud 

With  Boreas  in  their  midst  by  winged  steeds 

As  white  as  snow  swept  on  in  icy  car. 

While  fearful  gazed  the  sad-eyed  company 

Of  gentle  gods,  they  saw  in  this  mad  rout 

The  spoilers  of  their  dwelling-place  endeared, 

And  swift  as  foam  on-driven  before  the  storm 

They  sped  afar  to  tropic  vales  untrod. 

Only  Lycentra  with  her  children  twain 

Joined  not  the  fugitives,  for  her  dear  charge 

Encumbered  her  so  sore  that  in  despair 

She  turned  and  fronted  the  on-surging  line, 

Holding  in  piteous  appeal  her  babes 

In  fondly  clinging  arms.     As  well  might  stand 

A  wounded  tern  upon  the  ocean  beach 

And  cry  against  the  tidal  wave's  advance, 

Or  dainty  flow'r  upon  the  summer  hill 

Plead  with  the  flames  that  charge  in  columns  bright. 

The  snow-wraiths  wailed  a  dirge,  the  host  advanced 

With  such  a  diapason  of  deep  woe 


The  Descent  of  Boreas  77 

That  all  her  cries  were  lost  in  the  vast  roar, 

And  with  her  darlings  down  she  sank  in  death. 

Swift  rode  the  van  of  ice-gods  turbulent, 

But  slow  as  doom  the  frigid  rear  advanced, 

Crashing  the  forests  in  its  awful  path, 

And  sealing  as  in  tombs  etern  the  earth, 

Till  not  a  pulse  stirred  in  the  vale  of  doom. 

It  were  a  tale  of  passing  length  to  tell 

How  Boreas  swayed  in  wantonness  these  vales, 

Lording  it  with  a  despot  might  that  wrought 

Ruin  of  beauty  and  despair  of  joy 

In  all  the  gladless  realms  he  had  o'er-passed 

And  blasted  with  his  icy  armaments. 

Meanwhile,  not  idle  were  the  exiled  gods 

So  cruelly  bereft  of  haunts  endeared ; 

They,  leaguered  with  the  sun  host  and  the  spring, 

Made  mighty  preparations  for  the  fray, 

Enduing  armor  bright  and  weaponing 

Their  multitude  with  golden  shafts  of  sun. 

There  never  was,  I  ween,  more  thrilling  sight 

Than  when  these  armies  'rayed  themselves  for  war 

And  ominous  led  on  their  endless  hosts. 

To  northward  on  the  heights  had  Boreas 

Made  stand  with  mighty  banners  white  of  snow, 

Crowded  about  with  arms  that  swayed  and  glanced 

In  countless  millions,  with  intrepid  van 

Down  streaming  over  valleys  in  defiles 

Of  bristling  icy  spears  that  fearful  shone, 

While  all  about  in  dance  of  death  there  gleamed 

The  myriad  snow-wraiths  chanting  weird  refrains. 

Th'  advancing  host  swept  up  the  southern  pass 

With  Calochortus  leading  the  bright  band. 


7  8  The   Descent  of  Boreas 

There  was  a  vast  array  all  panoplied 

In  golden  mail  with  shields  like  suns  that  shone 

And  weapons  glinting  brightly  on  their  foes. 

About  them  pressed  the  host  of  spring  with  flowers 

To  scatter  in  their  path  and  garlands  bright 

Were  tossed  in  air  to  wave  above  the  fray. 

The  maidens  sang  of  triumph,  joy  and  life, 

The  glory  of  the  spring  was  in  their  strain, 

And  blithe  bird-voices  swelled  the  choir  of  song, 

Vocal  with  love,  with  hope  melodious. 

When  on  they  came  there  was  a  hushed  spell 

As  if  no  voice  dared  violate  the  trance 

Of  strife  impending;  then  an  uproar  wild 

Swelling  into  a  wind-tossed  wail  of  doom 

Proclaimed  the  swift  advance  of  icen  hosts. 

The  Naiads  shuddered  at  the  tumultuous  moan, 

And  bright  gods  leveled  weapons  at  the  foe. 

There  was  a  clash  of  arms,  a  stifled  cry 

As  when  a  million  waves  all  hush  their  moan, 

And  slowly  pressed  the  gods  their  northward  way. 

The  snow- wraiths  wailed  as  far  away  they  winged, 

While  sullen  smote  the  armed  host  of  ice 

Driven  by  that  bright  band  invincible. 

It  was  a  triumph  won  with  toil  supreme, 

And  still  the  ice-gods  threatened  them  afar 

Massed  on  the  heights  where,  waiting  to  descend, 

Their  white  ranks  glistened  like  grim  ghosts  of  doom. 

Scarcely  had  Calochortus  ta'en  his  stand 

Implanting  o'er  the  vales  his  banners  bright 

Of  golden  stars  on  fields  the  verdantest, 

When  down  the  hills  onsurged  the  pallid  throng 

In  dreary  multitudes  that  shrilled  despair 


The  Descent  of  Boreas  79 

To  gods  of  flowerful  vales  retenanted. 

They  fell  before  the  onslaught  and  again 

Left  fields  and  blooms  a  spoil  of  icy  rout, 

And  earth  was  paved  with  pale  snow-flow'rs  of   death. 

Thus  in  successive  victory  they  waged 

The  mighty  contest  for  supremacy, 

The  gods  of  life  slow  gaining,  fight  by  fight, 

The  gods  of  death  reluctant  yielding  sway, 

Until  the  valleys  were  reclaimed  quite, 

And  all  the  heights  save  those  lone  peaks  afar 

Where  solitary  camped  in  scattered  bands 

The  thwarted  remnants  of  the  haughty  host. 

From  all  these  travails  of  the  world  of  air 
Had  Mica  shrunk  to  gloomy  caverns  deep 
Whence  seldom  now  outflowed  his  molten  streams, 
And  rarely  did  he  shake  the  earth  in  wrath. 
So  dwelt  in  joy  the  blessed  gods  of  day 
For  many  a  blissful  aeon  undisturbed, 
Treasuring  all  beauty  in  their  radiant  bowers. 


8o  Idyls  of  El  Dorado 

AVILA   AND   STURNELLUS 

A  myth  of  the  meadow-lark1  s  song  at  dawn. 

Avila,  bright  Avila,  in  the  band 

Of  blessed  hours  none  other  beams  so  fair 

As  thou,  O  radiant  morning-star  of  heav'n, 

With  joys  imprint  upon  thy  countenance, 

Queen  of  the  dawn  and  darling  of  the  day. 

As  night  o'er-wings  thou  risest,  poising  bright 

On  fleckless  peak  of  snow,  thy  golden  hair 

Streaming  before  the  wind  in  shimmering  strands ; 

Thy  wreathed  smiling  face  with  greeting  blithe 

Like  rose  half-oped  beams  fondly  on  the  day. 

What  chorus  heralds  thee  from  comely  birds 

Piping  about  thy  feet  their  mellow  songs! 

First  rolls  the  thrush  his  high  ascending  strain, 

The  little  gold-finch  warbles  from  the  brier, 

The  linnet  carols  on  exultant  wing, 

And  all  in  praise  of  their  dear  mates  and  thee, 

Avila,  most  endeared  of  all  the  hours. 

At  sight  of  thee  the  poppies  lift  their  heads, 

The  morning-glories'  dainty  cups  uncurl, 

And  earth  is  pranked  in  fresh  array  of  bloom, 

All  scintillant  with  jeweled  diadems 

Brighter  than  diamonds  and  more  frail  than  flow'rs. 

Among  the  meadow-gods  was  one  who  teased 
Wild  strains  of  beauty  out  of  pierced  reeds, 
Blowing  with  ardent  soul  his  rapture  forth 
And  panting  such  sweet  melodies  serene 
As  thrilled  all  hearers  with  its  haunting  pow'r. 
Sturnellus  was  his  name  —  the  god  of  song, 


Avila   and  Sturnellus  81 

And  he  was  vested  with  a  gold  attire, 
With  jetty  cirque  about  his  glist'ning  breast, 
And  russet  cloak  against  the  morning  dew. 
When  he  beheld  Avila  he  was  thrilled 
By  her  rare  loveliness,  and  played  a  strain 
So  wildering  in  beauty,  so  divine, 
That  his  tranced  list'ner  fain  would  dally  there 
To  sate  her  longing  for  the  baffling  joy; 
But  she  was  urged  on  by  restive  hours 
And  winged,  uncloyed,  to  her  empyreal  home. 
Next  morn  Sturnellus  waited  at  her  throne 
To  pipe  anew  his  reedy  pastoral, 
And  freshly  was  she  stirred  to  am'rous  thoughts. 
Thus  more  enamored  morn  by  morn  she  grew, 
And  more  elated  rose  th'  impassioned  strains 
Until  she  could  not  rouse  herself  to  flee, 
Though  hours  importuned  and  indignant  time 
Frowned  on  the  fair  delinquent  dallying  there. 
Day  was  arrested  while  the  minstrel  sang 
And  all  the  gods  bent  ear  in  ecstasy. 
Then  Fate,  unheeding  plaints  of  passioned  love 
From  her  far  covert  glanced  with  boding  frown. 
She  saw  the  tranced  hour  absorbed  with  love, 
Spelled  by  sweet  song  from  duty's  path  severe; 
She  saw  the  tempter  with  melodi'us  reed 
And  all  th'  attendant  host  of  list'ning  gods. 
Then  spake  she  while  each  heart  grew  faint  with  fear : 
, ' '  Tempted  and  temptor,  hear  the  voice  of  Fate  ! 
Begone,  Avila,  unto  heaven's  bright  gate, 
And  thou,  Sturnellus,  'sume  thy  proper  state." 
A  crash  of  thunder  and  a  flare  of  fire 
Roused  the  still  host,  and  as  they  looked  above 


8  2  Avila   and  Sturnellus 

Avila  shone  from  heav'n,  a  quivering  star, 
And  o'er  the  mead  Sturnellus  winged,  a  lark, 
His  song  still  trembling  toward  his  love  in  heav'n. 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  83 


THE    WAR    OF    THE    TITANS 

A  myth  of  the  seashore,  describing  the  struggles  of  the  rocks,  trees, 
and  living  creatures  with  King  Tempest 

JEons  agone  the  great  Sea  Mother  throve, 

A  solitary  Titan,  vast  and  lone, 

A  passionate,  majestic  creature,  vast, 

Companioned  only  by  th'  refulgent  stars, 

The  dreamy  votress  in  the  vast  of  night, 

And  that  celestial  master  of  the  day. 

She  teemed  with  all  the  wonders  of  the  world, 

She  harbored  near  her  heart  all  gifts  of  heav'n, 

She  treasured  in  her  breast  the  life  to  be. 

The  great  Lord  Mica,  ruler  leagues  below, 

Had  sought  her  in  her  splendid  solitude, 

And  of  their  love  was  born  a  line  of  sons, — 

A  Titan  race,  upon  their  mother's  breast 

Reared  fondly,  as  became  their  high  estate, — 

The  vasty  offspring  of  the  fire  and  sea. 

Of  these  were  none  more  strong  than  Porphery 

And  Titan  Granite  and  Pyrites  bright  — 

Three  lusty  sons  to  do  their  destined  task. 

Like  peaks  they  stood  upon  their  mother's  strand, 

And  heard  her  proud  peals  breaking  on  the  day, 

Or  caught  at  night  her  murmur  at  their  feet, 

While  round  about  the  stars  bent  down  to  hear. 

A  joyous  family  they  lingered  there, 

Shielding  with  fond  solicitude  the  life 

That  sought  their  ample  harborage  from  storm. 

About  their  feet  the  kelp  streamed  to  and  fro 

As  if  it  were  their  mother's  waving  hair; 


84  The    War  of  the    Titans 

The  spined  Echini  clung  to  them  unfeared, 
The  bright  Asteriids  basked  in  dim  retreat, 
The  fringed  Medusae  waved  their  filaments, 
The  Limpets  pressed  their  lips  against  the  stones, 
And  all  was  joy  upon  the  wide  seashore! 

Such  sweet  repose  could  not  forever  bide, 

Since  one  there  was  most  keen  to  bring  them  woe  - 

A  boist'rous  tyrant,  jealous  aye  of  peace, 

And  ready  to  rebuke  content  with  scorn. 

King  Tempest  was  this  monarch  turbulent — 

A  wild  storm-king  with  sea-weed  madly  crowned, 

Mantled  in  dun  clouds,  mailed  in  glist'ning  brine, 

Sceptred  with  wind,  and  throned  upon  the  tide. 

He  saw  the  happy  habitants  of  shore 

And  smote  them  with  his  potent  arm  of  mail; 

For  was  he  not  the  deadly  foe  of  peace, 

The  ardent  hater  of  all  placid  things? 

But  even  he,  grim  king  of  stress  and  storm, 

Could  simulate  at  times  a  placid  mien, 

Playing  the  wooer  in  his  soft  disguise. 

It  chanced  that  Titan  Granite  took  for  bride 

A  sad,  dark  nymph,  Cupressa,  fair  to  see— 

A  pensive  goddess,  seldom  roused  from  grief, 

Who  so  entranced  the  storm-god  that  he  sighed 

Soft  music  in  her  ear,  and  sought  to  gain 

A  smile  in  greeting  when  he  neared  her  strand. 

Howbeit,  she  scorned  the  gruff  king's  fond  caress, 

So  constant  was  she  to  her  chosen  lord, 

And  grew  more  cold  the  more  his  suit  he  urged. 

He  thereon  in  his  burst  of  angerness 

Made  vow  to  bear  Cupressa  to  his  court, 


The    War  of  the    Titans  85 

But  firmly  did  she  wind  her  loving  arms 

About  her  master's  breast,  while  vainly  toiled 

King  Tempest  to  unclasp  her.    Fierce  his  voice 

Swept  round  her,  while  her  tresses,  dark,  were  blown 

Upon  the  night.    She  sobbed  and  cried   in  fear 

As  fast  she  clung  to  her  unflinching  lord 

Who  stood  defiant  through  the  rudest  shock. 

O  who  can  thwart  King  Tempest,  roused  in  might, 

When  his  white  quivering  hand  in  wrath  is  raised, 

When  his  loud  thunder  bursts  upon  the  shore? 

Not  e'en  the  Titans  can  his  ravage  stay, 

For  he  is  lord  of  all  the  realm  of  air, 

Commanding  armed  legions  unto  death. 

While  this  fierce  war  was  waging  on  the  strand 
Came  one,  a  fairy  god  forth  from  the  sea, — 
Fair  Larus,  offspring  of  King  Tempest  wild, 
Mothered  of  that  frail  Nereid,  Flying  Foam. 
All  candid  was  his  vesture;  pearly  gray 
His  mantle  fell,  and  mighty  ebon  wings 
Urged  him  in  glorious  circles  through  the  blue. 
He  little  loved  his  mighty  tyrant  sire, 
For  Liberty  controlled  his  spirit  high 
And  Freedom  claimed  him  for  her  neophyte. 
Therefore  King  Tempest  strove  his  seed  to  crush, 
Unwilling  one  of  lineage  so  proud 
Should  spread  such  heresies  to  gods  afar. 
He  sought  fair  Larus  in  mid-ocean  haunts, 
But  lo!  the  Mother  Foam  her  child  had  warned, 
And  he  was  winging  toward  the  port  of  peace! 

King  Tempest  followed,  threat'ning  as  he  sped, 
With  hoarse  voice  howling  o'er  the  turbid  sea, 


86  The    War  of  the    Titans 

With  ministering  waves  and  brow  of  night 

Threat'ning  the  concourse  of  sea-roving  gods. 

Three  spirits  tended  him,  fierce  formed  and  strange, 

Three  monsters  lashing  through  the  brine  for  prey  — 

Rhina,  a  demon-goddess,  scaled  and  grim, 

A  savage  denizen  of  darksome  deeps, 

And  Galeus,  her  mate  of  loathsome  form, 

From  whom  all  timid  sea-things  shrank  in  fear, 

And  huge  Heptanchus,  fellest  shape  of  death ! 

In  silence  glistened  they  upon  the  gloom 

With  savage  visages  and  glassy  eyes 

And  fierce  teeth  gnashing  in  their  cruel  heads. 

Then  all  King  Tempest's  trumpeters  swept  past, 

Blowing  wild  harmonies  upon  the  air 

To  speed  their  royal  master  on  his  course. 

What  fear  impelled  the  pitiful  godson, 
Frail  Larus,  as  he  winged  his  panting  way 
Before  such  press  of  foe !  what  thought  of  death, 
What  anguish,  nerved  his  wings  to  tenser  strain! 
He  sought  the  shelter  of  the  Titans'  strand, 
Where  bright  Pyrites  welcomed  him  with  cheer, 
And  Porphery  reached  out  enfolding  arms. 
Thus  thwarted  was  the  sire,  the  king  of  storm, 
Who,  doubly  angered,  turned  upon  the  band 
Of  sturdy  Titans  towering  on  the  shore: 
"There  shall  be  reckoning  for  this,"  he  cried; 
"Proud  heads  shall  fall  and  haughty  spirits  fail, 
Aye,  though  the  years  grow  weary  of  our  strife, 
It  shall  not  end  nor  rest  'twixt  thee  and  me ! " 
"Ah  Tempest  King,"  made  answer  Porphery, 
"Against  thy  wrath  we  stand  serene  and  sure, 
With  all  frail  creatures  treasured  close  from  harm." 


The    War  of  the    Titans  87 

The  wrathy  tyrant  turned  and  sought  the  deep, 
His  hosts  to  muster  and  his  shame  to  heal, 
The  while  frail  Larus  rested  there  in  peace. 

It  was  a  joyous  spell,  from  danger  freed, 

With  beauty  round  about, — the  singing  sea 

And,  on  the  sun-swept  strand,  her  children  fair 

Breathing  soft  melodies  through  conchs  out-rolled, 

Or  dancing  on  the  iridescent  shore. 

The  heart  of  Larus  stirred  with  love's  soft  thrill 

And  of  the  Nereids  he  chose  for  bride 

The  dreamy  Abalona,  gentlest  maid 

Of  all  the  daughters  of  the  glist'ning  sand. 

She  was  so  chastely  robed  that  one  might  well 

Have  passed  her  by  unnoted,  but  within 

Her  breast  there  throbbed  a  heart  of  lucent  pearl. 

Steadfast  was  she,  and  full  of  loving  ways, 

Companion  meet  for  Larus,  bright  and  free. 

They  held  sweet  converse  of  the  realms  of  air, 

Of  liberty  on  pinions  tried  and  bold ; 

They  heard  the  soft  sea-voices  babbling  near, 

They  listened  to  the  tones  of  singing  sands, 

And  reveled  in  the  beauty  and  the  peace. 

Then  Larus  in  his  arms  upbore  his  bride, 

Venturing  upon  the  parlous  stretch  of  sea 

To  prove  his  mastery  of  dizzy  heights. 

King  Tempest  spied  his  son  with  this  fair  freight 

And  made  attack  with  such  a  sudden  might 

That  Abalona  from  his  grasp  was  torn 

And  hurled  to  ruin  down  the  steep  of  sky. 

Ah  weep,  god  Larus,  for  thy  lost  belov'd, 

By  Tempest  King  so  rudely  cast  to  doom, 


88  The    War  of  the    Titans 

Ah  weep,  god  Larus,  since  thy  love  no  more 

May  cheer  thee  when  thou  seekest  peace  from  strife, 

No  more  may  greet  thee  by  the  singing  tide! 

There  was  a  solemn  funeral  by  night, 

The  while  the  great  Sea  Mother  wept  for  grief 

And  multitudes  of  maidens  vainly  mourned. 

Then  Larus  laid  away  the  loved  form 

And  o'er  the  trackless  darkness  wandered  lone- 

Unsated  still  the  King  of  Tempests  raged, 

With  fury  trebly  on  the  Titans  turned 

Through  many  a  cycle  of  consuming  strife. 

A  glorious  stand  they  made  against  his  might, 

Stubborned  through  aeons  of  adversity, 

Battling  to  hold  their  post  against  the  foe. 

With  all  their  offspring  ranged  they  on  the  shore, 

Steadfast  beneath  the  fiercest  shock  of  storm; 

But  one  by  one  they  fell  in  valiant  fight, 

Prostrate  and  nerveless  on  the  moaning  strand. 

The  great  Sea  Mother  then  outreached  her  arms 

To  fold  them  fondly  to  her  awful  breast 

Where  they  might  brood  in  peace  upon  their  woe. 

Even  Pyrites  in  his  glist'ning  mail, 

And  Porphery,  the  dauntless,  fighting  fell, 

Leaving  old  Titan  Granite  hoar  and  lone 

To  battle  for  Cupressa,  and  to  share 

All  burdens  of  the  haunters  of  the  shore, 

All  sorrows  of  the  sea,  all  stress  of  storm. 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  89 

THE    MIST    MAIDENS 

In  which  is  recounted  the  bringing  of  the  rain  from  the  sea 

Deep  in  the  haunted  sea  a  Neriad  host 

Sported  in  vasty  halls  of  splendid  state, 

Bannered  with  purple  and  enpaved  with  pearl, 

Dim  lighted  with  wan,  wavering  globes  of  fire, — 

A  mystic  region  of  enchanting  calm. 

Dolphins  with  azure  fins  and  milk-white  breasts 

About  them  glanced,  and  king-fish,  scaled  with  hues 

Of  opal  or  of  sun-bow,  lashed  the  deep. 

It  was  a  wonder  world  so  strange  and  still 

That  gods  grew  fearful  when  they  trod  its  halls 

And  viewed  its  tapestries  so  richly  wrought, 

Its  swaying  phosphor  lamps,  its  multitude 

Of  voiceless  creatures  stealing  through  the  gloom, 

Its  caverns  dark  where  scarce  a  glim  of  day 

Reached  down  to  warm  the  torpid  things  that  clung 

In  cold  recesses  'mid  unending  night. 

There  were  enchanted  forests  never  stirred 

By  roving  winds,  but  in  the  pulsing  sea 

Slow  waving  their  high  tops  that  sought  the  light 

In  streaming  amber  ribbons,  ribbed  and  curled. 

Through  these  unearthly  halls  and  groves   roved  free 

In  wanton  joy  the  bright  mist  maiden  band, — 

The  radiant  offspring  of  th'  eternal  deep. 

All  peerless  were  they  in  their  dim  retreat, 

With  shimmering  tresses  and  with  bodies  pale, 

Mantled  in  pearls  and  zoned  with  coral  bands, 

And  garlanded  with  sea-weed  streaming  free. 


9°  The  Mist  Maidens 

Sometimes  they  left  the  caves  of  ocean  deep 
To  frolic  in  the  boist'rous  wave-tossed  tide. 
Chasing  the  Nereids  'mid  flying  foam 
Or  reveling  in  mist  of  storm-churned  sea. 

When  from  bright  heav'n  the  Children  of  the  Sun 

Beheld  this  witching  pageant  of  the  spray, 

They  swept  to  ocean  in  exultant  flight. 

Their  bucklers  and  their  spears  glanced  bright  with  gold 

And  glitt'ring  were  their  fair  accouterments, 

Their  beamy  locks  and  eyes  all  scintillant. 

Amid  the  foam  each  seized  a  nymph  at  play 

And  fled  high  into  heav'n  with  beauteous  prize 

Where  ships  of  cloud  were  drifting  idly  by. 

In  these  fair  galleons  of  gold  they  sailed 

Upon  the  azure  deep,  down  streams  of  air 

Where  ne'er  a  ripple  left  their  vessels'  prows ; 

With  royal  sails  out-hung  they  swiftly  sped ; 

Toward  land  they  voyaged,  a  godly  company 

Chanting  glad  paeans  upon  the  starry  night. 

Above  the  sea,  above  the  hills  they  passed, 

O'er  valleys  wide  they  ranged  and  on  the  heights, 

Snow-paved,  they  moored  at  eve  their  radiant  fleet, 

When  forth  the  glad  Mist  Maidens  leaped  with  song, 

Pattering  to  earth  with  silver-sandaled  feet. 

Then  was  there  joy  amidst  despairing  flow'rs, 

For  these  sea-spirits  loved  all  tender  things, 

And  with  soft  kisses  did  they  give  them  cheer, 

Wooing  them  from  chill  tombs  to  joy  and  light. 

On  woodland  slopes  and  plains  from  heights  to  sea 

Was  such  a  hymeneal  festival 

As  might  have  spelled  old  gods  with  wonderment 


The  Mist  Maidens  91 

And  gladdened  back  to  youth  time-weary  things. 

The  lust'rous  progeny  of  peerless  Sun 

Had  ta'en  the  fairest  daughters  of  the  sea, 

And  for  their  spousal  robed  the  earth  in  bloom. 

I  dare  not  say  what  wealth  of  laughing  flow'rs 

Danced  as  the  breezes  rippled  up  the  hills  — 

What  joyous  bands  of  beauteous  dryades 

Gossamered  in  white  and  blue  tossed  heads  in  air, 

What  golden  creatures  swayed  across  the  plains, 

What  Naiads  tricked  in  pink  and  violet 

Frisked  in  the  greenery,  or  wantoned  gay 

Upon  the  marge  of  some  wild  chanting  stream. 

It  was  a  nympholeptic  fete  of  flow'rs. 

A  carnival  of  blossoms  without  peer, 

A  rhapsody  of  bloom  the  gods  to  spell. 

Full  joyous  were  the  days  with  beauty  bright, 

Until  forth  sped  the  daughters  of  the  sea, 

Leaping  adown  mad  cataracts  at  night 

And  gliding  on  in  silver  streams  at  noon. 

They  sought  their  own  loved  elemental  deep ; 

For  still  the  sea-mist  filmed  their  sparkling  eyes, 

And  caves  of  coral  lured  them  to  their  home. 

When  they  were  vanished  from  all  sylvan  bowers 

The  Scions  of  the  Sun  with  wrath  were  keen 

And  cruelly  did  they  bestrew  the  flowers 

Which  late  had  decked  the  land  in  bridal  wreaths. 

Their  spears   flashed    death  amidst  the  shrinking  host, 

The  green  blades  wilted  and  the  blossoms  sear 

Lapsed  back  into  their  tombs  of  crumbling  clay, 

Since  their  loved  Maidens  of  the  Mist  had  fled. 

Then  marshaled  the  Sun  Gods  a  Titan  host 

To  stand  as  warders  of  their  brides,  to  be 


92  The  Mist  Maidens 

Reclaimed  from  the  waves  glad  to  their  groves. 

A  mighty  concourse  stood  they  on  the  hills  : 

The  host  Sequoia,  stately  and  sublime. 

All  robed  in  green  they  reared  their  vasty  heads 

Towering  amid  the  fleeting  cloud-host's  van 

With  whom  they  held  unceasing  converse  high. 

Then  fared  the  Sun  Gods  forth  upon  the  sea 

And  filched  anew  the  Mist  Maids  for  their  groves, 

Placing  them  tenderly  where  they  might  find 

All  earthly  bliss  but  never  'scape  the  care 

Of  those  high  guardians  in  mantles  green. 

Again  joy  thrilled  the  heights,  again  the  plains 

Were  broidered  with  bright  tracery  of  flow'rs ; 

The  hills  were  diademed  with  poppies  gold, 

With  castilleias  rathe  and  columbine ; 

The  meadows  shone  with  buttercups,  the  vales 

Were  splendid  deck'd  in  lilies  chaste  as  snow, 

With  dog-toothed  violets  and  bronzed  bells 

And  fleurs-de-lis  that  proudly  curled  their  lips. 

Ah,  might  that  gladsome  time  have  been  but  spelled 

Into  an  everlasting  season  of  delight, 

With  meadows  haunted  by  the  host  of  heav'n, 

And  hymning  seraphim  on  azure  hills ! 

Alas,  the  Maidens  of  the  Mist  'gain  pine 

For  ocean  grottoes  with  their  mystic  gloom, 

For  dolphins  and  rare  convoluted  shells, 

Pearl  tinted  and  frail  formed,  for  all  the  dear 

Remembered  blisses  lingering  in  the  deep. 

They  moaned  adown  the  streams  and  sobbed  and  cried 

Where  stood  the  multitude  o'erwatching  them, 

And  made  appeal  so  piteous  and  lorn 

As  to  bestir  compassion  in  their  lords. 


The  Mist  Maidens  93 

The  Sun  Gods  freed  their  loves  with  solemn  pledge 

That  when  the  season  had  made  half  its  round 

They  would  return  and  with  redoubled  cheer 

Call  back  with  silver  songs  the  birds  and  flow'rs, 

Summoning  all  creatures  to  their  holiday. 

Thus  in  alternate  round  of  shore  and  sea 

The  Maidens  of  the  Mist  have  yearly  ranged, 

But  still  the  sea  holds  leash  upon  their  hearts 

And  eagerly  they  leap  to  meet  its  foam, 

Save  when  the  vast  Sequoias  and  the  race 

Of  woodland  Titans  —  Spruce  and  Fir  and  Pine 

Restrain  full  tenderly  their  hasting  feet 

And  bid  them  tarry  to  make  glad  the  flow'rs. 

Evanished  are  those  days  of  godly  things 

When  on  Hesperian  shores,  in  fealty 

To  beauty,  footed  free  the  host  of  heav'n. 

Their  tenuous  forms,  like  dreamland  ghosts  have  flown, 

To  find  new  haunts  on  singing  spheres  afar. 

But  in  our  vales  love  tokens  still  abide 

Of  their  blessed  presence — birds  and  trees  and  flow'rs 

To  body  forth  their  beauty  still  on  earth. 

O  ye,  to  whom  all  things  of  life  are  dear 

Who  treasure  the  sweet  carolings  of  birds, 

The  modest  faces  of  spring  posies  bright, 

The  veined  sheen  of  insects'  vibrant  wings, 

The  plash  of  fountains  and  the  flow  of  streams, 

With  silvern  fish  amidst  their  quiet  pools, — 

Forget  not  that  the  mountain  Titans  still 

Stand  sentinel,  transmuted  to  fair  trees 

That  weave  their  branched  arms  above  the  springs 

To  treasure  all  their  wealth  of  liquor  sweet, — 


94 


The  Mist  Maidens 


Forget  not  that  the  passing  of  the  groves 
Means  death  to  flow'rs  and  all  of  life  most  fair, 
Means  ravishment  of  earth  and  ruin  wide, 
Whereat  the  tender  gods  will  weep  afar 
And  cry  out:  "Stay,  O  vandals,  stay  thy  greed 
That  beauty  may  not  leave  thee  in  despair." 


Idyls  of  El  Dorado  95 


ADDRESS    TO    THE    GOD    OF    LIGHT 

King  of  all  bright  and  joyous  gods  of  air 
And  peerless  master  of  the  spheres  of  light, 
O  glorious  ruler  in  thy  parel  blue 
Shining  with  thy  own  splendor  through  the  void, 
A  multitude  of  spirits  voice  thy  praise ! 
Thou  hast  engirdled  earth  with  zone  of  cloud, 
The  waters  thou  hast  scattered  o'er  the  hills, 
Thou  hast  ordained  the  winds,  thy  ministrants, 
And  summoned  jocund  birds  to  grace  thy  bow'rs. 
At  touch  of  thy  bright  wand  the  buds  unfurl, 
The  waves  all  sparkle  at  thy  joyous  glance ; 
The  world  obeys  thy  mandate  from  afar. 
The  singing  spheres  in  loud  accord  to  thee 
Address  their  harmonies,  and  all  the  throng 
Of  orbed  followers,  in  mighty  strains 
Augment  thy  majesty.     Fair  Earth  is  thine, 
With  her  pale  lesser  child,  and  all  the  day 
Thou  castest  benediction  on  her  head ! 
Thy  will  is  perfect  law,  thy  word  is  light, 
And  thy  sweet  influence  unites  the  world. 
Life,  at  thy  bidding,  leaps  from  formless  stone ; 
The  gods  of  sea  and  land,  of  cloud  and  shore 
All  own  thy  sovereignty,  majestic  king ! 
Thou  makest  cold  things  warm  with  ardent  touch, 
Thou  castest  sorrow  to  the  winds  of  night, 
Thou  fillest  earth  and  heav'n  with  joy  and  love ! 


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